


Only a Little in the Air

by GoblinCatKC



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Horror, M/M, Monsters, Romance, Slow Burn, elf!Sportacus, fae!Robbie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2018-10-20 01:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinCatKC/pseuds/GoblinCatKC
Summary: In the depths of winter, Sportacus is faced with a hidden threat, something that attacks children in the night. He realizes that Robbie knows more than he lets on, but even after calling for help, Sportacus may find that their survival depends not just on slightly above average heroics but on powerful magic and reckless villainy.





	1. A Little Red on Snow

Lazytown, once the world's laziest little town, now sounded with laughter and cheer even in the depth of winter. After snowing all night, the morning sky was clear gray with a pale sun glaring over icicles on the rooftops. Heavy snow covered the roads and the park, burying the playground so that children waded through to the center, clearing a path for the smallest of them following in their footsteps as he absently dropped a steady trail of candy behind himself.

Not willing to dig blindly for their game equipment, one of them lay out a digital map of the park and figured just how much snow had fallen. The second child giggled as she considered how many snowballs that could make, while a third swore that "Trixie, if you start throwing snowballs, I'm going inside." And as the fourth child complained that he didn't want any of _his_ snow to leave _his_ park, the last boy wondered around his lollipop how big they could build snowmen with that much snow.

Which led to yelled instructions and arguing as they coaxed snow up off the frozen ground, leaving lines of black dirt behind as they rolled huge mounds together to make ever two taller snowmen. Which led to their resident "slightly above average super hero" backflipping onto the scene with convenient carrots for noses and radishes for buttons.

"Now remember," the hero said, kneeling to better see them eye to eye. "Food is not a toy. We'll eat these before we go, but putting them in snow means they'll be nice and crisp for later."

"Right, Sportacus." The pink girl took one of the spare radishes and bit deep, relishing the loud crunch that followed.

Across the park, leaning against the wall that ringed the whole area, a man in purple and maroon stripes watched them play through his narrowed eyes. Noisy, shouting at each other as their two huge snowmen grew so big that they started to merge at the base, the children played loud enough to have kept their resident villain awake, even if he'd been deep in his underground lair.

Not that he was in his lair. Or that he'd slept in the past two days.

From the little crowd, the pink haired girl spotted him and waved, inviting him to play. Stephano? Stephanyet? Either way, Robbie grimaced but gave a little wave in return and trudged through the snow, picking up a handful of white powder and patting it into a ball.

Ziggy watched him come, about to ask why Robbie wasn't wearing mittens, but he gasped when he saw the snowball and hid behind Trixie.

"We agreed no snowballs," Ziggy said, waving his lollipop at him. "It's too cold."

"I didn't agree to anything," Robbie said just to be contrary, and he ignored the way Sportacus crossed his arms and gave him a stern look. He didn't think Sportaflop would do anything unless Robbie actually threw it at one of the kids, anyway.

So when he reached his hand back, about to pitch, Sportacus gave a little gasp that Robbie actually meant to throw it. And then Robbie tilted and hurled the snowball up into the tree branches above them.

Bare branches shuddered and loose snow drifted down, followed by a startled cry as they all followed the way he'd aimed.

"My little red slingshot!" Trixie yelled, spotting the tiniest flash of paint nestled in a crook of twigs. "I lost that months ago!"

As she took a step toward the tree, Sportacus bent and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Whoa there," he said. "Trees in winter are dangerous to climb. There's ice and heavy branches just waiting to crack and fall."

At her crestfallen look, Sportacus grinned and gathered up a handful of snow in his blue glove.

"Don't worry—there's another way."

Building snowmen was put on hold as the children all started hurling their own snowballs at the tree. More and more, the branch shook and shuddered, and the slingshot started to edge out of its nook.

As he watched the children work, Sportacus took a step back, standing shoulder to shoulder with Robbie.

"Good eye," Sportacus said softly. "I didn't even think to look up."

Robbie shrugged, glancing briefly at the crystal resting quiet on Sportacus' chest.

"I wasn't going to say anything," he said, uncomfortable at being thanked. "I didn't think they'd invite me over."

"They genuinely like you," Sportacus said, and his smile grew small, fond. "We like you a lot."

Robbie scoffed.

"Well, I don't like the noise and the energy and the flippitying all over the place," he mumbled. "But...otherwise, I guess it's nice to have you around."

Sportacus' smile spread into a grin.

At last the slingshot tumbled to the snow amidst the children's cheers, and then Trixie was kept busy aiming radish buttons down the middle of what turned into a huge double snowman. They didn't have a hat, so Sportacus had to make a running leap to add the lollipops that Ziggy graciously volunteered, giving the snowman two rainbow antennae. Stingy even offered to let everyone claim the snowman, even Robbie, who was the only person tall enough to stretch upwards and carefully add the carrot nose.

"Now what?" Stephanie asked.

Sportacus considered, nodding his head once.

"Well, you've all been out here for a long time. It's a good idea to go inside and warm up, maybe with some hot cocoa?"

"But what are you going to have?" Pixel asked. "Cocoa has sugar in it."

"I'll go back to my ship," Sportacus assured them. "I could get a hot cider."

Ziggy tugged on Robbie's sleeve, making as face as Robbie pulled away.

"Aren't you coming in?" Ziggy asked. "You aren't even wearing a jacket."

Now everyone seemed to notice, no longer distracted by their games, and Robbie looked down at himself as if only now realizing that he should be cold. He grimaced and waved one hand dramatically.

"Look, I'm not even shivering," he said. "It just goes to show that being lazy makes you tougher. Conserves your warmth for when you need it later."

"I don't think it works that way," Sportacus chuckled, shooing the children off as a few of them showed signs of starting to shiver.

He watched the children run towards Stephanie's house, yelling something about hot cocoa, but he made no move to head back to his airship. As the last one went inside, Sportacus glanced over at Robbie.

The taller man wore no mittens, no hat, no scarf. Even his outfit looked normal, far too thin to be worn in such deep snow. The wind blowing flurries from the top of the snow made Sportacus shiver in his heavier winter uniform. He couldn't imagine how Robbie was managing.

"You want to come up?" he offered. "I feel cold just looking at you."

"I'm fine," Robbie said, shying away a step as Sportacus leaned a little too close. "I can't go inside yet anyway."

"Setting another trap for me?" Sportacus sighed.

"...no."

Robbie sounded as puzzled as Sportacus looked. Weeks had passed since the last time Robbie had tried to catch him in a tiger pit. He'd simply felt less and less like trying to send Sportacus flying, until finally he'd sat down to sketch out blue prints for a new hero-ejecting machine, only to realize he didn't want to make one.

"I don't want you to..."

The words stuck in Robbie's throat.

"Don't want me to what?" Sportacus asked.

Robbie coughed. Wanting something and saying it out loud were clearly two different things.

"I don't want you trying to feed me sports candy," he said firmly. "And I wish you'd stop making the kids run around so much. There's nowhere in town that I can go for peace and quiet without a kid making a racket."

Sportacus smiled and rocked back on his heels. "Maybe you'd like sports candy if you tried it. Strawberries, mangoes, grapes and peaches—I think there's some fruit sweet enough for even you."

Robbie frowned. "Strawberries are only okay as garnish on cake."

Sportacus shook his head softly. "Well, the kids will be outside a little longer, but then they'll be in early tonight. Is that quiet enough?"

Robbie would have answered that night was the proper time for being awake, but something else about what Sportacus said caught his attention.

"They'll be in early tonight?" Robbie looked down at him, his gaze flicking toward his crystal again. "You're sure about that?"

"Yeah, pretty sure," Sportacus said. "Especially since it gets dark so early now. You will be, too. Right?"

"I...no." Robbie shook his head. "I need to look around the town again."

Sportacus frowned, his lips pressing to a thin line.

"I don't want you collapsing out here in the snow," he said. "There's no one out here for if—no, for _when_ the cold catches up to you."

"And I told you, I'm fine," Robbie said.

He looked over the park again. The snow was a mottled mess of slush where the children had played, but further to the edges, the snow was pristine, a white field as smooth as fondant and icing. Even the roads were clear. No footsteps. No tire tracks. Not even bird tracks.

The wind blew like low moans around the tree branches, the only sound beside their breathing. And they were both aware that the other had not moved to go in, as if waiting for the other to leave first.

"Sportaflop..." Robbie started slowly. "Your crystal hasn't gone off today, has it?"

Sportacus folded his arms, adjusted his weight to his other foot.

"No."

"Are...are you sure?" Robbie asked.

Sportacus glanced up at him, weighing something visibly in his eyes.

"Did something happen?"

"I—"

Robbie's shoulders hunched the way they always did when he grew uncertain, his lack of confidence creeping up on him. Why he had stayed to talk to Sportadork anyway? He'd been doing fine walking alone through the town, the only person on the frozen streets. No one to question him, to ask him why he was outside in the cold. No one to talk to and no one to be with.

"I don't know."

Sportacus watched the other man curl up in on himself, staring distantly across the park. Robbie was standoffish even at the best of times, interacting more easily with children than adults, and deciphering his reasons was challenging even when he deigned to answer. When he fell silent, Sportacus had only his admittedly dramatic gestures and expressions to go by.

Robbie's eyes narrowed.

Sportacus followed his look. The far tree by the mail box—no, beneath the immaculately snow-frosted branches, half-hidden by unbroken snow, the smallest dark red splotch. And a child's sneaker under the bare bush, a thin line of jeans under the snow.

"Oh god..." Sportacus whispered, already moving.

He was vaguely aware of Robbie following after him, of Robbie kneeling beside him as they began to uncover a child underneath the snow. As they cleared his face, Sportacus vaguely recognized him, a rarely seen face just a shade too old to hang out with the children anymore. He leaned close, putting his ear to the boy's mouth.

Faint, faint warmth.

"He's alive," Sportacus breathed, digging even faster. "Robbie, go call for help."

He had dug another three handfuls before he realized that Robbie wasn't moving, instead staring at something past Sportacus, something under the bush by the child's foot.

"Robbie!"

Startled, the villain stared at Sportacus for a moment, then realized what he meant.

"Wait, wait—"

Sportacus nearly had the child clear, putting his arms under where he guessed the boy's legs were and lifting. Something jerked tight, pulling against the boy's leg, and Sportacus had to hold the child close as Robbie pulled the bush away for a better look.

Their eyes widened.

A bear trap closed like a sharp vice against the child's ankle, caked with frosted blood.

Cursing in the cold air, Sportacus awkwardly leaned back, refusing to put the child back down on the snow. Without asking, Robbie grabbed either side of the trap, trying to pull it open.

It didn't budge.

"Switch," Sportacus said immediately, "I can probably force it—"

He didn't mention that he was stronger, that Robbie was too thin to pry it apart. It was obvious—a slightly above average hero was more physically capable than a junk-food loving, exercise loathing villain. So he was surprised when Robbie shook his head once, firmly, and instead pointed at the mayor's house.

"What? Did someone see—?" Sportacus said, looking over his shoulder.

He frowned. No. Nothing. No one was coming.

But he heard a sudden clank, and when he looked back, Robbie was holding the trap wide open.

Sportacus pulled the boy free, and Robbie let the trap clang shut again.

"Help me get him inside," Sportacus said. "Make the kids clear the front room. I don't want them to see this."

"Right, right," Robbie said, getting to his feet and heading for the mayor's house.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of trying to warm up the boy who simply would not wake up, then talking to the mayor, to the paramedics, to the police. Robbie slipped away before the latter came, to no one's surprise, and aside from Ziggy's comment of "that guy," Sportacus barely noticed.

He had played games for, in retrospect, a horrific amount of time while someone lay injured and dying only a few meters away.

He stared out the window, feeling Stephanie touch his hand, but he had no words of comfort for her. They both watched the snow begin to fall again, covering the ground with a fresh layer. Covering anything else so that no one would see.

Someone had put a bear trap in a place filled with children.

Someone had nearly killed a child.

And his crystal had not gone off.


	2. A Purple Sheen

"A maniac is putting down bear traps!"

Sitting on the mayor's front stoop, Sportacus glanced sideways at the small crowd of adults, parents, teachers and policemen, all listening to Officer Lolli by the town hall. Their voices carried on the winter wind, and a handful of them carried not flashlights but torches. In the dark morning hours, their lights sent long shadows flickering across the snow.

"We've created a rough grid to begin with," the officer continued, pointing to his cell phone. "We have paper copies inside, but we've already placed this on the town's website and we'll update as teams call in. Please come up in groups—you can mark off an area so no one accidentally doubles up. Be on the lookout for anything suspicious."

Bear traps, strange footprints, faces peering in through windows, turned over trash cans, strangers in alleys, lights left off, lights left on... Officer Lolli listed more and more clues to watch out for, swelling in importance as those in the crowd listened and took note.

Behind Sportacus, the door creaked open and pink rabbit slippers came to rest beside him.

"They're going to go crazy trying to find all of that."

Sportacus slid slightly to one side as Stephanie dropped down next to him, leaning against him. Even though she wore her coat over her pajamas, he put his arm around her and rubbed her shoulder, trying to warm her.

Holding her close to reassure himself that she was all right.

"You shouldn't be awake," he said. "It's too early. The sun's not even out yet."

"They're loud." She sniffled. "Why do they have torches? Aren't flashlights better?"

How to explain to a child that Lazytown's adults were trusting in fire less for light and more for protection. Even an animal would skitter away from a wielded flame. He had no doubt that some of them had firearms as well, but there was something satisfying in holding a torch, something reassuring in the darkness when so many of them believed in wicked elves and fairies, even if they wouldn't admit it.

"The cold could drain the batteries," he offered even though he knew she was smarter than that. "Good to have a back up."

Stephanie gave him a look that said she was humoring him.

"You're not gonna go looking, too?" she asked.

He leaned his head in his hand, watching the small crowd picking parts of town and heading down winding, narrow streets. They hadn't asked him for help. They hadn't so much as looked at him, save for the questioning glare from one or two parents. He didn't have to ask what they were thinking.

He'd been there at the park. He'd been within a stone's throw.

Some hero.

"I'll go in a moment," he said, forcing a small smile. "When I know where everyone else will be. That way I don't waste time checking the same places."

"That makes sense," she said, nodding matter of factly. "You can go way faster than they can."

A thought made her frown. Normally she would not have had such morbid ideas in her brain, but even though the adults had gone to great lengths to keep the children from seeing anything, Stephanie had seen the blood on her uncle's couch, had seen the stretcher rolling out the window. The children understood without seeing that something bad had come very, very close to them.

"Wait...what if you're flipping and your foot gets caught?" she said, and she grabbed his hand as if to protect him. "What if you're alone out there and something happens and there's no one to—"

"No no no," he said, holding her hand in return. "No getting worked up like that. I'm a hero, remember? I'll be fine. And the sun's coming out soon. The clouds are gone—it'll be a warmer day. The snow will start to melt and I'll be even safer when I search."

Not convinced, she nodded despite herself, her face drawn tight, but he was insistent and she gave in to his gentle nudges to go back inside. He waited a little longer, just as soon as the last group headed across the park and down the main street. Then he heaved a deep sigh and stood.

All alone on the gray street, he put his hand over his crystal and felt its faint, constant hum. No different than yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that. Three days ago, Trixie had nearly walked into the road, distracted by her argument with Stephanie, right in front of Stingy's car. The crystal had beeped its usual warning. A week ago, Pixel nearly burned down his kitchen trying a recipe he'd found online. The crystal had worked then as well.

So what was wrong?

He couldn't be a hero if the crystal wouldn't go off.

For all he knew, there could be another child—

No!

He pressed his hands to his head, squeezing his eyes shut. The memory of blood and snow, the steel teeth of the trap digging into torn muscle, the way the red ice wasn't snow...

Breathe.

His lungs shuddered and refused.

_Dammit, breathe._

In.

Out.

Sportacus clenched his hands into fists, forcing his breathing to slow down. Fogging in the air, his breath started to come in slow puffs, and he put his shoulders back, stood straighter as he breathed deep.

He wasn't a child anymore. His big brother wasn't here to hold him and do the hard work, to look at the awful things. Sportacus loved so much about being a Number, about taking care of the children and changing the town for the better. The slow, gradual improvement in Lazytown—the gardening, the games, showing the children healthy habits—was often called the tedious part of the job, but it was the part that Sportacus lived for.

The painful parts, the "flashy bits" that the others liked to call them—these were thankfully far and few between. Far less often here in Lazytown than in Bullytown or, god forbid, Mayhemtown, but violence still happened, and when it did...

"You'll have to manage on your own," Iþrottaalfurinn had said, knuckling his little brother's head so much that the blue hat had fallen off. "You can do it. I know you can. You just have to treat it like candy, something else to fight. It's hard, but that's your job. No one can do it better than you."

There. Even just remembering Iþrottaalfurinn's warmth and cheer was enough to calm him down. He nodded to himself.

A hero had to keep the town and the children safe. But to do that, he needed his crystal in good working order. So the first thing he had to do—

"Ship," he said, "ladder."

His dirigible came by almost immediately, trailing a rope ladder. The familiar feel of the knots calmed his nerves, the way it stretched underfoot, the climbing rhythm that took him up in nearly a heartbeat.

"Airship," he said as he came inside, "please roll out the workstation. The crystal needs a diagnostic."

"Right away, Sportacus," the airship said in her light, synthetic voice.

A white bench slid out from the wall, a row of lights and screens centered on a small sconce in which he placed the crystal. The sconce lit up, and the crystal turned delicately as it was examined.

While the ship worked, Sportacus paced back and forth, steepling his fingers against his lips. If the crystal was broken, he would have to go home to have it repaired. But how did it come to be broken? He hadn't seen any cracks in its surface. It hadn't dimmed, hadn't stopped humming. The only crystal he'd ever seen that had needed repair had been cracked nearly in half. It took a lot of force to hurt one. If anything was wrong, it should have been obvious.

"Diagnostic complete."

"And?" he asked.

"No errors detected. Crystal is within acceptable working parameters. Negligible wear or tear since first creation."

"What?" Sportacus picked up the crystal and examined it. It looked as pure as the day Iþrottaalfurinn had carved it. "But then why didn't it sound an alarm when that poor boy was in trouble?"

"A crystal's warning system is close to infallible," the airship said dispassionately, as if reading an informational page. "However, there are certain conditions that can manifest at rare times that inhibit detection of adverse circumstances."

His mouth twisted. He knew this from training and probably could have recited the page, but it never hurt to go back to basics. Grabbing the back of his flight chair, he leaned forward, stretching as he lowered his head.

"Could you list those?" he asked.

"Known conditions that can inhibit a crystal's reading are as follows," the ship began. "Leap year, twilight on solstices and equinoxes, and a thirteenth moon. Certain types of spells have also been known to evade a crystal's detection."

His head lifted.

Spells.

Magic.

That was going to make things a lot harder.

What he knew about magic came entirely from his training. He'd never actually dealt with magic beyond his own inborn abilities—a little extra lift to his jumps, a boost when he ran. The only way magic really worked in his life was how he had to wear his hat all the time around the kids, or else they'd see how his ears didn't look like theirs. His magic was all about the body, focused in his muscles and bones, sharpening his speed and loading him with energy.

But there were other kinds of magic that he had never studied, and his brother had even told him that magic users were far and far between.

"Just leave them alone," Iþrottaalfurinn had said. "I've only ever met one that was any trouble. Anyone who uses magic just wants to be left alone to study and build their craft. Not the nicest people and they won't help you unless they're inconvenienced personally, but they don't tend to go out of their way to make trouble."

He hadn't asked before, but now Sportacus wished he knew what Iþrottaalfurinn had done about that one trouble maker.

With a heavy sigh, he stood straight set the crystal back in place on his chest plate.

"Airship," he said, "what do we have in storage?"

"Water," the ship answered, "fruits and vegetables, first aid medical supplies and reading material—"

"No herbs?" he asked, already knowing the answer. "No knives, no—?"

"The last knife was broken on a thick gourd rind, and the last herb was used for tea two weeks ago."

The ship's voice had a particularly snippy tone that made him give the main screen a dirty look, but at least it didn't remind him that it had suggested a supply run after tea.

"Well, there's no help for it," he said. "I'm not leaving Lazytown to get supplies, not when I can scrounge up what I need on the ground. Ship, monitor the town for any signs of magic while I'm gone."

"Sportacus, such a comprehensive search will cost 93% of my operating memory and result in a degrading flight path."

"...right, right." He pinched the bridge of his nose. Was that a headache coming on? "All right. Just monitor for flare ups, then?"

"Will do, Sportacus."

* * *

Numbered heroes did not receive much in the way of an allowance, and Sportacus didn't usually feel the lack of money anyway. All supplies were easily gathered from their home and magically stored so that they didn't rot. Water came straight from the glaciers. And herbs were usually dried and hung up, ready to make tea and medicine.

He shouldn't have let the herb supply run out, but in his defense, winter had come quickly and covered everything with snow much earlier than he'd expected. So now he was spending the meager amount he'd saved over several months in a gourmet grocery store, counting out the coins to make sure he had enough.

Which he didn't think was going to work. This was the only place he could buy herbs without the processing that destroyed them, still on the stem with the leaves and petals intact, tied in thin bundles with ribbon and wrapped in paper. But that also meant that their prices were much, much higher, and while agrimony, willow and water violets weren't too expensive, the rock rose and sweet chestnut blossoms were not only out of season but imports as well.

It hurt, but he put back the rock rose.

At the cashier, he found himself one step behind a familiar silhouette. The line of the other person's body made it obvious to Sportacus, although it was not Robbie's usual outfit of purple and orange stripes. In a similarly tight outfit of black jeans and a purple sweater, Robbie had also added a beret that Sportacus recognized from his artist disguise.

What the villain had placed on the counter, however, would have been enough to send him into a crash just looking at it. Refined sugar, vanilla extract, cocoa powder, espresso powder, dark brown sugar and rum syrup, cream, amaretto, almonds and marzipan...

"How are you still even functioning?" Sportacus heard himself gasp.

Robbie glanced over his shoulder, tilting down his sunglasses when he recognized him. Dark half-circles smudged his eyes.

"Nonsense," Robbie said with a wave of his hand, complete with a put-on accent to fit the disguise. "I wouldn't be caught dead with anything but the best ingredients. There is simply no comparison between fresh and bottled cinnamon."

"Not exactly what I meant," Sportacus said, taking a better look at him. "Did you sleep? You look like you haven't been to bed at all."

"Sleep and me don't usually go together," Robbie said, and he lifted his head so that the shades better covered his eyes. "That's all right. Midnight's the best time for baking. No noisy children or flippity flopping Sportasporks running everywhere."

The insult rolled off of his back like nothing. Robbie never liked to talk about things that were bothering him, instead bottling it up until he snapped at Sportacus or the children. If he wasn't sleeping, Sportacus thought he might be able to offer a healthy remedy that perhaps Robbie had never tried.

"Was it..." Sportacus grimaced as the image of blood and steel flashed in his mind. "Was it because of yesterday?"

Robbie bowed his head slightly. He swallowed once, but he gave a small shake of his head.

"It didn't help," Robbie admitted. "But no. It's normal. Don't worry about it."

Biting his lip, Robbie glanced sideways at him.

"Thanks for not mentioning me to the cops," he said softly.

Sportacus smiled ruefully. "That would have been mean after you were the one who spotted him. I understand a...villain...wouldn't want to deal with police."

"Lots of questions," Robbie agreed. "Dangerous questions when people are running around with torches. They...you haven't heard anything?"

Was that concern? About the boy or about the maniac putting out traps? Sportacus shook his head once.

"I know the boy is stable at the hospital, that he's doing better. But I don't know if they found more traps. ...I wasn't invited."

Robbie nodded as if that made perfect sense. He noticed the dried herbs as Sportacus put them on the counter, and despite the sunglasses, he gave an obvious blink of surprise at them.

"Infusing oils?" he asked. "Trust me—you're wasting your time. Those won't help you get to sleep in the slightest."

That sounded like the voice of experience, and Sportacus would have winced in sympathy if he hadn't been thinking of how he was doing without a very important ingredient.

"Not quite," Sportacus said, not giving more of an explanation. Grinding herbs down to make ink wasn't the sort of thing one told to the uninitiated. "I just wish it was summer. It'd be easy to find most of this growing around nearby. Then I could've bought everything else I needed."

Robbie pushed ahead his last spices, not really answering. He watched the cashier's read-out showing the cost pushing into the hundreds of dollars. As his orange blossom honey went across the scanner, he reached out suddenly and scooped up the dried herbs, gently moving them onto his own items.

Sportacus froze, watching Robbie pay for his herbs on top of everything else.

"Wait," Sportacus stammered, not sure how to react. Robbie handed over a handful of bills, one of which fluttered to the floor. He didn't bother to pick it up, holding the cashier's look, and she swept the bill into the last bag as if it were just one more item.

"Relax, flippy-flop," Robbie said over a growing grin. "It's literally nothing."

That smile was the most diabolical thing Sportacus had seen on Robbie's face in ages. Chortling over some hilarious secret, Robbie handed the bag of herbs to Sportacus and somehow clamped down on his rising joy enough so that he didn't quite dance out of the shop.

"You didn't have to do that," Sportacus said, holding the bag in both hands. "I wasn't asking...I mean, I appreciate it, but you...I..."

"Oh, you act like you never got a gift in your life," Robbie said. "I didn't do anything wrong. It's not as if we stole it together, right?"

"I...um. I know it wasn't wrong," Sportacus said. "Um...if you're sure—?"

"Positive. Just being friendly." Robbie laughed, rearranging the bags in his arms so they weren't so heavy and giving a clumsy wave. "See you later."

Sportacus watched him go, not knowing how to feel. That was the nicest thing Robbie had ever done for him, but it felt...off. Like Robbie wasn't being nice in doing it.

Was this how it felt to be friends with a villain?

Still, it left him with enough money to go back inside and buy the herbs he'd wanted. When he returned to his ship, he carefully brought out each bundle and lay them side by side, unwrapping them from their paper. He tipped out the bags, catching little bits of dried leaves and petals that could still be used.

And a large leaf.

Frowning, he held it up and examined it. He hadn't bought this. Long and flat, it was a regular birch leaf. The shop hadn't even had any. So where had it come from? The only extra green thing he'd seen going into Robbie's last bag—

His eyes widened.

—had been a single bit of paper money. That the cashier had not paid attention to.

As he turned the leaf in the light, a purple sheen glimmered over the surface.

A suspicion began to grow.


	3. Spring and Dandelions

Grinding herbs in a mortar was mindless, giving Sportacus plenty of time to think. As he added a few drops of water and burned the herbs into ash, he thought back to the various disguises Robbie had worn, the machines that Robbie had invented. How much of them were pure craftsmanship? Was everything he'd built made entirely of metal and electricity and steam? Or was there a touch of magic to them as well? Were the disguises helped along by a spell to change his voice or by a cantrip to change his hair color?

Impossible to tell. Sportacus had spent almost three whole seasons in Lazytown, but he barely knew anything about Robbie. What he did know fit on one hand.

Robbie loved sugar.

Robbie never seemed to sleep.

Robbie had not completed school.

Yet Robbie managed to invent intricate machinery.

And Robbie could disguise himself thoroughly.

"When you don't have any idea where to start," Iþrottaalfurinn had once said, "then go back and look at what you do know. You probably have more than you think."

Sportacus sighed, but he had several more herbs to burn and crush. He could either fidget in his chair or he could distract himself with thinking about the Lazytown villain.

Robbie liked sugar...but not just any sugar. Gourmet brands, fresh and clean of any processing. He'd picked his ingredients as methodically as Sportacus had picked his herbs. And Robbie, for all his cakes and cookies and ice cream, never seemed to gain weight. Extra pounds would have been obvious. That suit he favored left little to the imagination.

Sportacus sighed. Robbie was probably underweight, and he had no muscle to speak of underneath that thin cloth. He certainly wasn't eating what he needed.

And maybe it was a symptom of all that sugar, but Robbie never seemed to sleep. His eyes always looked smudged like a raccoon's, with a streak of purple on his lids for flash. He also touched up his lips as well, a subtle hint of color even when he lay splayed out on the bench trying to nap. Sportacus thought that maybe a little exercise and some vegetables would help put him on a real sleep schedule, but since the man always tried to nap in the afternoons, maybe going to bed at 8:08 pm was not feasible. Had he always been so sleepless?

"Airship," he said, struck by a thought. "You couldn't look up any school records about Robbie Rotten, could you?"

"That would be a violation of privacy," the airship said, but nevertheless it paused to think. "Also there don't seem to be any...aside from a handful of class rosters."

"'Rosters'?" he echoed. "So he did go to school."

"From first to third year at the Mayhem Town Kinder School," the airship confirmed. "His name then drops from the rosters and does not appear again."

"He just dropped?" Sportacus paused in his work. "Mayhem Town...that couldn't have been easy."

The ship did not respond.

So Robbie had not finished more than three years of school, but he created machines that sometimes defied explanation. Either he was a mechanical savant, or else he added a touch of magic to make everything work. That made sense, come to think of it. Bringing characters out of storybooks, making dolls almost as lifelike as people...the use of magic was obvious in hindsight.

And, of course, there was Robbie's ability to disguise himself even among people who knew him as a villain, with all the skills that each disguise demanded.

"So he has magic," Sportacus said. "The real question is how much magic does he have?"

"Impossible to calculate," the ship replied. "Without knowing the extent of his mechanical ability."

Another moment passed before the ship offered a tentative reminder.

"Sportacus, your ink has been done for the past five minutes."

"What?"

Sportacus looked down at the mortar and pestle. The ashes of the burned herbs had coalesced into a liquid.

"Oh, right."

Wasting no time, he dipped his thumb into the liquid and smudged it over his eyelids in a rough approximation of an elven rune. The mark began to burn, and he winced and grabbed the edge of the table, gritting his teeth as the magic set in.

The burning ended, and he breathed out in relief. Yet another reason he didn't like dealing with magic.

But it was done, and now he could focus on the real task at hand. He would worry about Robbie later.

"Airship, door."

As the portal opened, Sportacus took a running jump and leaped into the air, falling several dozen meters before he opened his backpack's glider. He coasted over Lazytown, looking for bright spots now visible to his charmed eyes.

Nothing stood out, but he'd expected that. A sorcerer who committed this kind of crime would take pains to stay hidden. Sportacus came down toward the park, landing just beyond the yellow tape marking off the scene of the crime. He came as close as he could, craning his neck to try to see around the bush.

There, just beneath the bottom twigs, a shadow that seemed to glow with a pulse that made the darkness seem like something alive. Sportacus wanted to reach in and grab it, to pull it closer for examination, but he knew better than to grab random bits of magic. The shadow was shaped like a drip of water. Perhaps if he backed up, followed the direction it had fallen, then maybe—

Yes, another glowing bit of darkness under a tree root, and then another under the bench, and another... He went to the next bit of shadow, beneath the seesaw. It was still covered in snow, undisturbed since the last storm, but beneath it, pulsing like a slow heartbeat, a black ring that lay sunk in the ice, radiating a stinging heat.

Sportacus leaned back from the dark mass, less from the toxic air it radiated and more from what it meant. This was just residue, magic that was left over from a spell. Something had been left here and then removed. From the ring shape, Sportacus guessed that yet another trap had been placed here before.

He checked himself. Maybe not another trap. Maybe the same one, just moved to a hidden spot where a victim would be more easily concealed and retrieved.

The trail ran cold here, though. No other lurid drops of magic glimmered in the setting sun. He stood and looked around, spotting Trixie waving from her window. Waving back, he felt a little relief that the children were safely inside. Families were staying in and would continue to do so until the monster was caught.

Talking voices and a dull glow made him look over his shoulder. A group of adults were coming back toward the town hall, their steps much slower as they trudged through the snow. Most of them carried their torches by their sides, long burnt out, and only a few of them still had their flashlights in hand. A few of them glanced at Sportacus as they went by, but their faces were not as angry as they had been that morning. They'd searched for maniacs and nasty traps all day, and they had nothing to show for it.

Maybe he would find something they'd missed.

But he would have to be careful. A search like this had to be slow, methodical, not somersaulting and vaulting and...

"And flippity flopping," he said to himself, smiling despite himself. Robbie would have loved to hear him admit it.

Still, that didn't mean he couldn't run, or leap up to high places just in case their maniac knew that children liked to climb. Standing straight, projecting more confidence than he felt, he decided to start by the school. He knew that the playing fields had been checked by the teachers and faculty, but he would feel better after checking them himself.

As he ran along the streets, eyes open for any drops of glowing magic, he glanced up to see what kind of a moon was out. A thin sliver of a crescent moon hung behind several clouds that slowly gathered for yet another flurry of snow. He had a little less than an hour left of sunlight, and then searching would be a lot harder.

The school was empty, canceled not due to snow but due to fear. He examined the shadowy spots between the walls and the trees, beneath bushes, under the rain gutter. He spotted a drop of dark magic, found another ring, but the marks were fading. If there had been traps here, they had been moved.

When he came around the back of the school to the grassy field where the children played at recess, Sportacus stopped mid-step. And fought back a smile.

Near the far end of the field, Robbie looked faintly ridiculous, leaning forward on his elbows with his rear up in the air. Sportacus had to admit, the pants cut a fine curve even under the coat, not that he would ever be so ungentlemanly as to admit taking a peek.

In fact, Robbie was bending even closer to something beneath a dead bush tangled in the fence.

He'd found something—Sportacus was certain of it.

Not wanting to startle the other man, Sportacus stepped off the sidewalk and into the snow, every footstep crunching as he came closer. As he passed the square hint of the sandbox, the frosted jungle gym, Sportacus wondered when Robbie would hear him. When Robbie looked up, however, his expression went from concern to outright panic.

"Stop stop stop—!" Robbie said, sitting up, raising his hand as if to freeze Sportacus in his tracks.

Sportacus halted and looked down around himself. And cursed under his breath.

He'd been so focused on Robbie that he hadn't noticed the circle of dark magic still smoldering underneath the swing set.

He hadn't been about to step on it—it was too far to one side for that—but he didn't know what might happen if he planted a foot inside such a strong field of magic. And it stood to reason that there might be traps set around the school, that the whole school grounds might be dangerous.

Across the field, Robbie got to his feet, brushing white powder off his knees, and stomped over to him. He stumbled once over a half-hidden rock, growling angry mutters as he steadied himself and came close enough to use his extra height to loom over Sportacus.

"Why are you here?" Robbie demanded, shaking off the doubt in his voice with manufactured anger. "The teachers already looked here."

"For the same reason you came," Sportacus said simply. "To see if they missed anything."

"You could have checked down Gloend Lane," Robbie said. "Or up Surlir street. No one's been that way and—"

"You sure you're upset that I looked over here?" Sportacus said before Robbie could really wind up. "Or are you more mad that I found you?"

Flinching from the criticism, Robbie looked away, worrying his hands as if he'd been caught at his usual trickery, and he turned his back, arms crossed.

"Well, I found this one," Robbie muttered. "Go flip all over the field and find another one with your head, why don't you?"

Used to Robbie's sullen moods, Sportacus instead walked over to where he'd been bent over, finally seeing an unsprung trap. Made of steel, it glowed a weak blue, giving off the faintest light only visible as the sun set. It had been uncovered, the snow and surrounding stones carefully cleared away, and a large stick lay beside it, probably to set it off from a distance.

"Don't touch it," Robbie said, hovering around him. "It's not safe."

"I can tell," Sportacus said, kneeling beside it. "Look at those markings. It's like it's on fire."

Robbie blinked, looking at Sportacus, then at the trap. Lines had been scratched as if someone had taken a claw and written them in, but if they looked closer, the lines were not in the steel but rather in the light glowing on the trap. The markings hovered, blurring in and out of focus, pulsing slowly.

"You can see it?" Robbie whispered.

Sportacus met his look. Robbie had just confirmed having at least a little magic—only someone with the gift could have seen the strange letters—but Robbie tensed up as he realized he'd slipped. He froze, his gaze darting back to the snow, to the fence, to the ground, anywhere except at Sportacus.

Sportacus opened his mouth, about to mention the magic he'd added to his eyes, but he stopped himself. Robbie had tensed up so much that his hands trembled, and Sportacus didn't think that was simply because his coat was half open to the freezing air.

Many people still believed in magic, or at the very least would not refuse that it existed, but convincing someone that they had some skill, no matter how small, was not always easy. To a human, a little magic was less a gift and more a curse—seeing the spirits and boggles that no one else did, hearing odd whispers in empty rooms. Feeling a presence that no one else sensed. It was enough to drive some humans insane or paranoid. Sportacus wondered if this was why Robbie didn't sleep.

If he had learned to control his gift, then Robbie must have also learned to live with odd occurrences and unexplained events all of his life, secluding himself as no one believed him. Robbie was alone—he might have never met anyone else with power.

Sportacus frowned. Or he might have met someone else with power and a nasty temperament, and learned that magic was too dangerous to risk showing off. Robbie looked sick as it was. This called for a different approach.

"I'm glad we found it before it hurt someone," Sportacus said, turning back to the trap. "I found a couple of black spots in the park, a few here at the school. If they hadn't canceled classes, someone would have stepped on this for sure."

There, Sportacus thought. Business as usual. No need to be afraid. We'll pretend it doesn't take magic to see these things.

With the attention off of Robbie and back on the matter of the children, the air turned less tense. Robbie's hands dropped back to his sides, and if he wasn't relaxed, at least he didn't look like he would bolt.

"I-I-I don't think...um," Robbie said, still staring at the ground. "There. Look. At the fence, I mean. The one by the side of the school."

Sportacus turned. A heavy layer of snow lay on the fence, a pile of at least a ten, eleven centimeters. Not sure what that meant, he looked back, then realized what Robbie was trying to show him.

The fence by the side where the children never went had more snow on it than the fence at the back of the field.

"They must have run around here on the last day of school," Sportacus breathed. "Hitting the snow off the fence. This is just the snowfall from last night."

"They were running around the whole time," Robbie said. "Yelling, screaming, noisy things..."

"Then why weren't they hurt?" Sportacus said. "If this thing was here—"

"Luck?" Robbie said.

Sportacus cursed, grabbing his crystal and holding it out.

"Why isn't this thing blaring like crazy?" he snapped, staring at the crystal as if it were being stubborn. "There's a bear trap in a school yard and it's dead silent! There were kids running around this thing and my crystal isn't working at all."

Robbie fell silent, not knowing what to say. It was hard knowing what to say when people weren't angry, and Sportacus was usually so even-tempered. But now Sportacus looked more disheartened than Robbie had ever seen him. Even the rare times he'd almost managed to send him away, Sportacus hadn't looked this crushed.

Robbie felt something inside clench up. Sportacus shouldn't look this sad.

"Maybe the kids weren't in danger," Robbie found himself saying, speaking faster and faster as if he could stumble over the right thing by accident. "Maybe the trap wasn't meant for them. Maybe it only works sometimes, like if there's only one person outside. Things like this don't always make sense. Maybe it can't hurt the pure of heart or someone who ate sportscandy this week, or...or..."

Robbie was even more bewildered when Sportacus looked up at him, at a complete loss.

"Will you help me?" Sportacus asked softly. "Please."

Help? Robbie completely blanked. That...that was not how things were supposed to go.

"'Help you'?" Robbie blurted. "You're a hero—"

"A hero who needs help," Sportacus said. "Please?"

Blinking, Robbie gave him a narrow look.

"You do remember I'm the number one villain in the world, right?" He sounded both worried and wounded that Sportacus seemed to have forgotten, even if he was really only ranked tenth. "Villains do terrible things all the time."

"Like helping kids find their lost toys?" Sportacus said pointedly. "Or helping to save a child's life?"

Damn. Robbie couldn't argue, settling instead for tugging at the sleeves of his coat.

"Well," he mumbled, "if you really want help...I guess...?"

"Thank you," Sportacus said, sitting up. He didn't look happier, but he seemed less likely to throw his crystal across the field. "We'd better start by setting this one off—"

"That's not smart," Robbie said. "It could—could snap shut on your hand. Best to go get help, yes, go get and I'll watch it—"

"I could bring the whole town," Sportacus said slowly, "but I don't think anyone would see it. At least not until it sprung around someone's leg."

Robbie squirmed. "What are you talking about? It's right there—"

"For the same reason only you and I can see it," Sportacus said.

Again, Robbie tensed and wouldn't look at him. Sportacus dipped his head in frustration.

"Robbie," he said, "I know it must been hard, growing up with this gift, but you're not alone. If you can at least see these things, if you have even a touch of magic—"

At the word, Robbie gasped, raising his arm up as if to protect himself. Sportacus reacted without thought, grabbing Robbie's wrist before the other man could react.

_Spring._

_A warm wind._

_Sunlight and the scent of dandelions—long grass rustling and the flapping of black wings—_

Robbie yanked free, too late.

Sportacus stared at him with wide eyes, his jaw slowly dropping in shock.

What he had just seen was not "just a touch" of magic.

Robbie came to his feet, backing away as his eyes narrowed. He held his wrist as if Sportacus' touch had burned.

"You saw," he whispered, and his voice came in a low, threatening hiss.


	4. Amber Glow in Darkness

Yes, Sportacus had seen, but he didn't know what he'd seen. Warmth, flowers, wings beating around his head...

"What?" Sportacus blinked, his hand up as if he was still holding Robbie's wrist. "What did I...?"

"Lying...cheating..." Robbie stammered, backing away from Sportacus' outstretched hand. "I thought..."

Sportacus shook his head, clearing the last dreamy wisps of spring, but the world still held an odd sheen, a lingering amber glow that was slow to fade. He grabbed the fence, clinging to it as he came to his feet. Snow and grass blurred in and out of his sight until the grass melted back into the ice and the ground was left white again.

"What—" Sportacus stood straight, clearing his head with a final deep breath. "What was that? That wasn't something small...that was...that was..."

"You lied to me," Robbie growled, looking for something to throw and settling for a handful of snow that didn't even reach Sportacus. "You lied! You lied!"

"'Lied'?" Sportacus frowned. "I've never—"

"You've been looking this whole time," Robbie said, his voice turning into a snarl. "You—damn—stupid—numbered elf!"

Robbie spit out the last word like a curse, and he turned and escaped back through the field in his usual manner, his steps too high and his arms clumsily splayed. He looked like he might fall any second, and Sportacus could have caught up to him easily if he hadn't been pinned down by that sudden insult.

Elf? His hand went to his hat to see if it had fallen off, but no, the fabric and goggles still tightly covered his pointed ears. And he knew he'd never taken off his hat, not around anyone here. But Robbie knew. Somehow Robbie had known...for how long?

His frown deepened. He needed to know. And he needed to know how powerful Robbie really was—not some little gift but full control and had that been a glamour of spring? He needed to know what Robbie could do, what he was planning. And why he thought Sportacus had lied.

But when he followed after him, Robbie was gone.

No. More than just gone. His footprints ran all the way through the snow, then went around the corner and vanished. Sportacus glanced over the sidewalk and the front front of the school and even checked the side of the wall for a ladder or something. Nothing. The snow was smooth and clear save for Sportacus' own steps heading to the field.

Maybe a secret entrance somewhere, perhaps where a periscope might appear to keep an eye on the town? But no, he found nothing. No manhole covers, no vents or pipes. Nothing.

More magic, then. Sportacus' lips pressed to a thin line, but there was nothing he could do, not yet. The trap took first priority.

Traipsing back, he consoled himself that at least he would be able to take this trap and study it. More clues might mean finding the monster who did this. He briefly reconsidered that Robbie had done it, but why would Robbie have saved a child if he'd meant to catch one? Why had he dug this trap out and begun to remove it? It simply didn't feel right. Robbie wanted to catch and get rid of Sportacus, not the children.

The runes and blue waves of light radiating from the trap warned him not to touch. Assuming that setting the trap off was the best way to end its magic, he picked up the large stick Robbie had placed near it and then backed up several meters. Looking around to make sure he was alone, he tossed the stick lightly in the center of the trap.

Like a violin string pulled too tight, magic snapped out in all directions, and as if in a sugar crash, he went limp and collapsed in the snow.

* * *

Not accustomed to flying for so long, Robbie came to his lair's hidden door too quickly, changing to put his hands out as he came down. He landed, his feet tripping over the steel lip of the entrance, and he went sprawling over the raised door, knocking the breath out of himself.

The hatch pressed painfully against his ribs, but he waited a moment longer, catching his breath, listening to hear if an enraged, violent elf was bearing down on him. He heard the wind, heard the sound of a car in the distance. After a long minute, he sighed out in relief and got up, laboriously turning the hatch and going inside, locking his lair tight as a drum once again.

"Lying elf," he muttered, pacing back and forth. "Lying, deceitful, tricky..."

He almost walked into the wall, drawing up short just a hands breadth away. Pointing dramatically for effect, he turned on his heel and kept pacing.

"I trusted him," he said, lecturing the air. "I trusted him. That was my own mistake, and I won't make it again. Never trust elves. Numbered elves are the worst. Always...jump jump jump! Never letting up. Never letting me rest. Never stopping. Always searching."

He barely heard himself over the sound of his heart beating, the blood rushing through his head. His breaths came in fast, deep pants. It had been ages since he felt like this, hunted in his own territory. All the worse because Sportacus knew where his home was. Not like that first elf who'd looked and looked but never learned to see through glamour.

Did his protections need more power? No, the wards on the entrance were solid. So were the inhuman runes floating on the wall, barely perceptible even to his own eyes. His home was well fenced in, and yet he still felt vulnerable.

Cursing to himself, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a slice of dense chocolate triple sachertorte cake, then curled up in his chair and devoured it swiftly. A little relieved, he threw the plate across the room where it crashed in the sink. It helped a little, but he curled up into an even tighter ball and tried to imagine a plan.

Sportacus had to be thrown out of Lazytown, before...before...

Robbie put his hand over his face. He'd done this before, but how would he get rid of Sportacus? Every time he tried, his plans fell apart.

He glared at the costume tubes. Empty, all of them. He hadn't tried his more elaborate disguises in weeks. Months. All he used now was a little spell to hide his face, a cantrip to hide the true line of his body, tiny changes that needed no more than the tiniest bit of glamour. Why would he need more than that? He'd trusted Sportacus! He'd lowered his guard! So he had nothing immediately ready to launch an attack.

He frowned. No. Not one of his normal little ruses to try to trick Sportacus to leave.

A real attack.

An attack like so many years earlier.

Robbie pressed his fist against his mouth.

"But why?" he whined, tucking into such a tight ball that he trembled. "He was so nice...and I was being so good..."

In a fit of pique, he flung himself back, draping himself over the arm of his chair, his legs dangling over the side.

"I was helping," he said, giving a little frustrated kick. "I was helping!"

He sat bolt upright again. "Maybe if I help more?"

Back on his feet, he crossed the room and stopped at his workstation. Three bear traps, all of them closed, lay haphazardly on his desk. His notes were scattered, half of them on the floor, and he scooped them up, giving them another look.

_Haf the marks ar recognizibel. Haf of them I cant read. Not proper roones, not glyfs, not sijils. Defintley majic. Maybe unseely kinds that I dont know. Not many other fairys rite with other alfabets. The wuns that can arnt so good with making new spels._

The rest were sketched letters he'd copied from the glowing marks on the trap and some ancient runes and signs for comparison, trying to find any meaning to them. Robbie let the notes fall again. He still didn't have an answer. And without an answer and with those traps inside his home...Sportacus would keep thinking Robbie was to blame.

Sportacus had lied about why he was in Lazytown long enough until Robbie had lowered his guard and cast a spell that revealed he was fae. And all the other numbered elves would be so smug that one of their own had caught the master villain that had eluded one of their own.

He gathered a large drop cloth from one of his other projects and spread the material over the traps, covering them up. There. He wiped the dust from his hands. At least they were out of sight. And then...

He bit his lip. And then Sportacus would come after him as soon as Robbie left the lair. If he wasn't already waiting at his door. Sportacus knew what he was. The elf had suspected and lied to get close to him and make him lower his guard, and now Sportacus knew.

Robbie closed his eyes. Why delude himself? He was going to have to fight. It had been years, decades even, and he wasn't as practiced as he was before. And Sportacus was so strong. If they fought, Robbie might not be able to send him off like he'd done to Number 9. He might have to...have to...

No! Robbie shook his head. No, he couldn't think of hurting the elf. Even though Sportacus had lied and cheated and tricked him, Robbie's heart twisted at the mere thought of hurting him. Was this also part of Sportacus' plan? Robbie didn't make friends so easily. Robbie didn't talk and help just anyone. He'd opened up and trusted Sportacus, cast spells for Sportacus. But Sportacus had lied...

Robbie groaned and sank back in his chair.

"Sportajerk," he muttered, "why'd you have to go and be so mean?"

If he couldn't fight and he didn't want to be hurt, then his only other option was to run. Abandon all of his work. Abandon his home and his territory. Abandon everything. And in the back of his mind, never see Sportacus again.

But...

Robbie lifted his head.

But he did have a choice.

He didn't have to fight alone.

Steeling his nerves, straightening his shoulders and lifting his head as if that would give him a boost of courage, he stomped over to his chair and leaned over it, one hand out toward the phone.

He hesitated.

Just call, he thought.

If this situation was really so bad, if he was really in that much trouble, he could just make a phone call. His cousin knew all the best spells, best tricks, best pranks, best crimes, best sparks of mayhem and cruelty and...

Robbie swallowed once.

And slowly straightened.

No.

No, it wasn't that bad yet.

He let out a shaky breath, looking around his lair again. After all, there'd been no attack yet. Sportacus hadn't come trying to break in the door. Robbie smirked. The stupid elf was probably thinking he'd get around to dealing with Robbie later and was still fussing with the trap...

The trap that was very dangerous and that Sportacus had no clue how to disarm safely.

What if Sportacus was hurt? What if he was in danger? What if he needed Robbie's help?

...surely it wouldn't hurt to take a look, if he just stayed in disguise.

* * *

Sportacus woke with snowflakes stinging his face. What had hit him? His head felt so heavy and lopsided, as if he'd been struck in the temple. The world blurred in and out, slowly coming into focus as his eyelids fluttered. Heavy gray clouds, the sun touching the horizon, footsteps crunching towards him...

He jolted up, shaking off snow, with the distinct feeling that he was being stalked. Off balance, he grabbed the fence to steady himself, dizzy as the world spun and spun and then finally stopped spinning. He looked for whoever had been coming toward him, a hand up to defend himself.

The field was empty. He let go the breath he was holding. Still alone. He checked the time and found that only a few minutes had passed. His clothes were soaked and he'd started to shiver.

This was turning out to be a really lousy day.

"Right," he muttered. "Go back to the ship, change, and then look at the—"

The trap. He'd almost forgotten. It lay a few feet away, the steel jaws clamped together, the stick snapped in two. Any hint of magic was gone.

Hefting it up in one hand, he looked over the rust and scratches more closely. It was nothing special, just a plain steel bear trap. And it was in better condition than the last, not as rusty and with more of a sharp edge. There was even a trademark on the side, old writing that was weathered but recognizably human.

R bb Rott n Catch 2000

Sportacus stared at the mark for several seconds, feeling the bottom of the world drop out from under him.

It couldn't be. He closed his eyes, swallowing once. It couldn't mean what he thought it meant. He grabbed both sides and tried to pull the trap open, straining with all of his might, but the trap didn't creak or groan. The spring didn't move at all. Sportacus had a feeling that it might have opened for Robbie.

Maybe...? But no. Sportacus shook his head. Even though Robbie was more powerful than he'd first believed. Even though Robbie had practically hissed at him and knew more than he let on. Even though Robbie had been malicious and cruel to him in the past.

"No," he said softly. "I won't believe it. But...I'll be better off calling in a little help."

Sportacus swung the the trap onto his backpack and called his airship.

Robbie hadn't tried to trick him out of town for weeks. Hadn't seriously attacked him in months. Had helped save the boy. Robbie had found this trap and tried to disarm it.

...or tried to plant it here instead?

He jogged back to the park, carefully leaping the patches of ice covering the ground. It gave him something to think about besides where the traps were coming from. He didn't want to think that Robbie was behind this latest scheme. It didn't fit Robbie's usual tricks, anyway. No disguises, no elaborate machinery, just steel and magic and blood.

Robbie's problem with the school yard was a matter of angles. There was no way to set up a periscope to watch over the fence, not without being noticed, and even if he had, the sound of noise and laughter would have echoed through the pipes down to his lair, making the children even louder. Besides, he normally didn't care about the children when they were in school. It was the racket from the park that drove him insane.

Worse—there were no electric lights at this end of the schoolyard, at least none that worked. The two in the corner looked like someone had tossed stones at them, leaving the bulbs bare and broken. With the sun quickly setting, Robbie wouldn't be able to see Sportacus, not until he was right on top of him.

And while he didn't think Sportacus would recognize him like this, he didn't want to find out the hard way. The hero might still be carrying a tennis racket. The only place he could hide safely was on the school roof.

It wasn't easy. The roof was sloped and covered in the freshly falling snow. He slipped and started to slide down, spreading out so that he could dig his fingers into the cracks in the ice. Painfully working his feet into the ice, he awkwardly nudged himself up until he could look over the top.

Blue on white—Sportacus lay stretched out, unconscious, and Robbie gasped. That wasn't good, that wasn't good, Sportacus was going to freeze—he crept up higher on the roof, ready to plunge down and bite at the elf's face until he woke up—and then the elf suddenly leapt up, looking around himself wildly. Robbie squeaked and dropped down an inch, afraid he'd been seen.

Long seconds of nothing happening gave him the courage to glance over the top again. Sportacus was staring at the bear trap, reading something along the edge. His mouth had pressed to a harsh line and his hands held the trap so hard that he was shaking.

Robbie winced, cringing in on himself. No no no, Sportacus had gone and seen it! The one thing! The one thing he'd been trying to hide! He'd scraped the other trap but this one—Sportacus had just surprised him too soon, had grabbed him—

Yes, he decided. Yes, this was all Sportacus' fault. Stupid hero getting in the way and meddling with things he clearly didn't understand, and blaming Robbie for something that wasn't his fault—well, not really his fault, but what ignorant, backwards, no-nothing elf would understand anything about fae magic and races and—

Wait. He tensed up more than he would have thought possible. If the elf suspected, then he would come after Robbie. Sportacus might come after him in his lair right now! And Robbie counted on one hand the amount of tools or traps he could readily use to defend himself. No explosives, no rune stones, no cage traps, no glue traps, no charms or cursed artifacts. He hadn't used anything dangerous in ages and nothing against Sportacus in weeks, and anything leftover from his fight with Number Nine was rusted, its magic faded and gone.

Robbie closed his eyes.

After he'd sent the previous elf packing, he hadn't needed to make more.

It had been such a triumph, the laurels he'd rested on for so many years. The thought of doing the same to Sportacus now made his head hurt.

He looked at the elf again.

"No," he heard him say. "It can't be. I won't believe it."

Sportacus slung the trap over his backpack and summoned his airship as he left. Unseen, Robbie lifted himself up and watched him go, a thread of hope pulling tight in his heart.

* * *

"...sportacus..."

"Sportacus!"

Startled, he found Stephanie at her window, waving as she opened the sash. She leaned out, squinting as the inside light made anything outside hard to see.

"Stephanie," he said, "what are you doing? It's cold out here and you're just in your pajamas."

"They're flannel," she said as if that made any difference. "Besides, you're outside and you look like you got wet."

He half shrugged, stopping to talk despite himself. "That's what I get for running around in snow."

"Did you find anything?" she asked. "No one else did. Uncle says that they'll try again when the sun comes back up."

"I found something," he admitted. "But I'll have to wait before I can really take a look at it. Is everyone else okay? I haven't had a chance to look in on the other children."

"We're all fine," she said. "Pixel set up a game online so we can all play together even if we're stuck inside."

"Oh," he said, not sure what kind of video games children played. "Like a soccer game?"

"Pirates, actually," she grinned. "I was Stephania the Pink, scourge of the seven seas, and I stole all of Rotten Beard's treasure."

Sportacus frowned at the mention of Robbie's previous disguise, and Stephanie noticed, her brow furrowing.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Was Robbie pulling pranks again?"

"No...no, not really." He shook his head, more to himself than her, but he still looked up to ask her a question. "Stephanie...have you noticed Robbie acting, well, different than usual?"

She shrugged, shaking her head once. "You mean besides not trying to run you out of Lazytown anymore?"

"Yeah..." He sighed. "You noticed that, too."

"He still plays with us," she said. "Sometimes. Like last week, he was pretending to be a zoo keeper and there was a lion escaped from the zoo."

"How come I don't remember that?" Sportacus asked.

"'Cause you said you were getting more glacier water for your ship. It was okay, though. We figured out it was him 'cause he said we had to be real quiet so the lion wouldn't eat us. And then Trixie remembered the closest zoo is really far away and then we snuck up on him and roared like a lion, and he kind of ran off after that."

"That sounds like him, all right," he nodded. "He shouldn't have tried to trick you, though."

"I think he just wanted to leave behind the animal cookies he baked," she said, shrugging again. "He does that sometimes. I don't think he knows how to talk to people so well."

He crossed his arms, not sure what to think. The children enjoyed Robbie's games and songs. And those cookies were probably loaded with sugar, but he was surprised at the lengths Robbie went out of his way at just to share food that he'd made.

Sportacus paled slightly. Fae food.

"Do you still have any of those cookies?" he asked.

She shook her head with a pout. "I only got two. Ziggy grabbed a bunch and Trixie used one in her slingshot, and then Stingy made off with the rest."

"Hm—"

Lightning flashed, followed by a low rumble on the other side of town. Sportacus sighed and gave Stephanie a nod.

"I'd better get to my ship," he said. "Close up your window, then I'll go."

"Okay," she sighed, leaning back into her room. "Be careful!"

He waited until her window was locked up tight again and the curtains drawn, and then he was running across the park to the waiting ladder of his ship.

Once on board, Sportacus put the trap on his workstation and left it to examine later. For now, the sun was almost down and he wanted to send a letter before he lost the light. He sat down, taking a pen and paper, writing in neat form.

_Dear_ _Iþrott_ _,_

_I need help. I think I'm in over my head. Something bad has happened in Lazytown and it's magic. You know how I am with magic. Please come._

_Faithfully, Sportacus_

He folded the paper into an airplane and addressed it along the edge.

Iþrottaalfurinn

Number 8

Hot Air Balloon

Then he went to the door of his ship and threw the plane into the air, watching it curve in the last rays of sunlight, rise into the clouds and vanish.

"Please get here quickly," he whispered.

He spent a fitful evening at the helm of his ship, sitting up and watching the town from his viewscreen. Lazytown's lights burned through the dark, and dozens of street lamps left golden circles where lone pedestrians hurried home. He watched them dart from each patch of light, mindful of who might be lurking unseen even just an arm's length away. As the hour grew late, Sportacus brought the ship down closer to the ground, floating close enough that he could better see the silhouettes of the houses and streets.

"The time is 8:05 pm," the ship reminded him.

"I know, I know," he muttered. Three more minutes before he normally went to sleep. "Ship, can you continue monitoring the town, centering on the park and the school?"

"Yes, Sportacus. Such a search will not require overmuch resources."

He frowned. "Can you also monitor Robbie's home?"

"The entrance to Robbie's lair is distant enough that such a search will strain my front memory."

"How about spot checking?" he asked.

The ship calculated for a moment before answering. "Yes, although photographs at regular intervals focused on the entrance and road may still miss anyone coming and going."

"Try it anyway," he said. "He's so far out from the rest of town that he...that someone could...that it could be a long time before we noticed anything."

There were two ways to take that. The ship didn't respond to either.

Yawning, he climbed out of his seat and headed to bed, too tired for more than a slow cartwheel to stretch. The ship continued flying in a tight circle, coming as close as he dared to the ground, only a little ways up in the air.

Tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd there's the wind-up. Next chapter, the pitch as the horror finally, finally starts. Questions raised in this chapter will be answered in the next. Many, many thanks to the commenters who keep me going.


	5. Big Brother Arrives

For three days, Sportacus sprinted through town, running circles in the vague hope that he might catch someone in the act of setting traps. Every time he stopped to catch his breath, bending to rest his hands on his knees, he tapped at his crystal to see if it was beeping or broken. Nothing. From time to time, he checked on each of the children, reassuring them that nothing else bad had happened, no one had been hurt again, and that everything would be okay. See? His crystal wasn't going off—everything would be okay.

The snow didn't stop falling, coming down in lazy drifts that piled up along the walls. School was still in session and the snow lay perfectly still and clean, untouched by the children who couldn't go out and make snowmen and snow forts and have snowball fights. After class, Stephanie sometimes spoke to Sportacus from her window, mentioning the books she was reading, the latest game Pixel had set up. But none of the children were allowed out, and their parents sometimes glared at him from behind their curtains before making certain the windows were latched and the doors sensibly locked.

He also didn't see Robbie. Unless the fae had turned himself invisible, and Sportacus didn't think that was possible, then Robbie was hiding inside his lair. Each time Sportacus went to knock, there had been a reply of "no one esta en la casa" and then nothing else. Clearly Robbie didn't intend to come out, and if he was safe inside, then Sportacus wouldn't push.

It also meant the town was safe, if Robbie turned out to be the one—

"Let's come around again," Sportacus said, squashing his suspicion. "Over the beach this time."

With only the sound of snowflakes disintegrating against his screen, the airship had never felt so lonely. Sportacus sat in his command chair, silently circling the town, searching for footprints in the snow. The longer the hunt wore on, the more exhausted he felt, dark smudges forming under his eyes even though he still went to sleep dutifully at 8:08 pm every night.

Just a little longer, he told himself. His luck had to change soon. He had to believe that his luck would change soon, because every moment longer that his search lasted, he felt he would see another child hurt and bleeding.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock. Ten after eight. Sighing, he put the ship on autopilot.

"Balloon off the starboard prow," the airship said.

Jolting upright, Sportacus came out of his chair, sleep momentarily forgotten.

"Door!"

Before it had even lowered, Sportacus put a foot on the door and leaned forward, stepping out fearlessly as it lowered like a plank. He scanned the skies and spotted the bright dot on the horizon, colored red by the hot air balloon's flame.

Already knowing what he would see, he pulled out his telescope and held it up, adjusting so that the blur became sharply defined.

In his familiar gold uniform, his older brother held his own telescope, grinning and waving one hand. Then a heavy gust blasted the side of the gondola, and Iþrottaalfurinn had to return to maneuvering the rigging around his balloon to keep it flying straight.

With his own matching grin, Sportacus backflipped back into his ship, suddenly too full of energy to stand still. He brought the ship closer, hovering over the other edge of town, opening the docking bay so his brother could easily tie down his gondola. He put on the outside lights to better stand out against the clouds, and then reminded himself to keep scanning the town while he waited.

The wait was short. Sportacus didn't know how his brother managed to fly in any direction he wanted, even in the harshest storm, but Iþrottaalfurinn brought his hot air balloon up against the airship and docked securely, then leaped out and onto the door.

"Little brat," Iþrottaalfurinn scolded. "Keep standing out there in a storm and the wind will blow you off this thing again!"

But Sportacus could move, Iþrottaalfurinn had run up and caught him up in a bone-crushing hug, holding him tight for a moment before leaning back, hands on his brother's shoulders.

"Let me get a look at you," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Have you gotten shorter while I was gone?"

"Your brain's just frozen from the trip," Sportacus smiled, dodging the teasing smack his brother threw. "Ship, close the door."

Iþrottaalfurinn glanced over his shoulder as the door shut, shaking his head mildly.

"Spoiled rotten...no one else got such a fancy ship from the elders."

"You didn't want one!" Sportacus said. "You said too many moving parts means it breaks more often."

"And it's still true," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Just because it hasn't happened yet...has it?" he added hopefully.

"No," Sportacus said. "And it won't. How was the trip? Warm and cozy?"

"Elves shouldn't be sarcastic," Iþrottaalfurinn said, shaking his head at him. "Freezing, but it was quick at least. Bullytown shuts down in the winter and Mayhemtown's been quieter than usual, so I've cleared my whole schedule. But do we really have time to talk? Your letter sounded urgent."

"It was," Sportacus said. "It is. At least, it seemed like it at the time, but nothing's happened in three days."

"That doesn't mean something bad isn't brewing," Iþrottaalfurinn said.

"Right," Sportacus said, and briefly caught his brother up on the first attack in the park, the traps, the way he'd made ink to see the magic. "And Robbie was helping me, I'm sure of it—it's just I touched his arm and—"

"'Robbie'?"

Iþrottaalfurinn frowned, and Sportacus took that as a sign of his suspicion, explaining as fast as he could.

"Robbie Rotten," he said, wincing at how that sounded. "He's not really rotten, though. Well, he can be, but he hasn't been in ages. He's—"

"He's a fae and a villain," Iþrottaalfurinn said decidedly, his look darkening. "Yes, I know about Robbie Rotten.

Sportacus frowned. "You do? How?"

"You said he's helping?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I—well—"

"It couldn't be a trick?" Iþrottaalfurinn pressed. "A ruse to pretend he's being good? Or that he's setting these...child-traps out while in a disguise?"

Heaving a deep sigh, Sportacus turned and went to lean against the back of his flight seat.

"I've thought about that," he admitted. "I can't...I just won't believe that he's at fault. I don't know where you know him from, but you haven't seen the change in him. He's stopped trying to get rid of me. He's stopped playing tricks on the children—he just wants to sleep, I think—and he's even come to play with us sometimes in the park. That's how he spotted the first child when my crystal didn't—"

"You're sure he didn't know the child was there already?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked. "And merely led you to him?"

"...no." Sportacus shook his head once. "I mean—I'm not sure. I've tried to remember how it happened that day. I know I can't remember everything, but... Iþrott, he helped me save him. He opened the trap when I couldn't make it budge."

Iþrottaalfurinn shook his head once, sighing in exasperation at his brother.

"Maybe he just knew how to open it," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Maybe there was a hidden latch. He's very good at little machines."

Not sure what to think, Sportacus wiped his hand over his face, closing his eyes.

"I just..." His jaw tightened. "I just don't want to think he did this."

Iþrottaalfurinn came closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder again. There was a brotherly jostling, a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm not saying he did, I'm really not," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I hope he didn't do it, either. But the Robbie I knew...he could be very single minded. He didn't always care about the consequences as long as he got what he wanted."

"How do you know him?" Sportacus asked. "I didn't know you were in Lazytown before."

"Later," Iþrottaalfurinn said firmly. "You said you had two of these traps?"

Sportacus nodded, motioning toward the workstation in the center of the ship, pulling away the cloth covering them.

"Yes, the first one and then the one in the schoolyard."

Surrounded by the clean white surfaces of the airship, the traps—rusted and chipped from age—were nightmarish. The teeth were notched and cracked, more like the serrated edges of knives. Iþrottaalfurinn winced at the dried blood.

"I was imagining something more..." He shrugged helplessly. "More magical? This is just steel."

"There was magic before," Sportacus said. "Like floating letters, but I couldn't read them."

"Do you remember what they looked like?"

"Not really?" Sportacus picked up a notebook at the side, flipping it open. "I tried to draw the letters how I remembered, the shapes of them. I don't think I did very good, and Robbie wouldn't come out to help me."

"So these are just from your memory?" Iþrottaalfurinn said, nodding in approval. "And Robbie didn't interfere with them at all."

"Iþrott," Sportacus sighed.

"I would say the same thing even if he wasn't a villain," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "He's a fae. The two of you together, with elfin and fae alphabets? That could have muddled this entirely."

Iþrottaalfurinn tore the page from the notebook, writing a quick note at the top, and then creased the page into a paper airplane.

"Where are you sending it?" Sportacus asked. "Back home?"

Iþrottaalfurinn nodded. "Someone there might recognize the writing. I think Number Three is on watch this month. She might know the writing."

Sportacus frowned. "I thought they didn't like to be disturbed."

"They're just grumpier in the winter," Iþrottaalfurinn said, taking the finished plane to the door. "Don't let them scare you. They were all new heroes once, too."

As his brother sent the plane on its way, Sportacus shivered in the sudden cold wind.

"All right," Iþrottaalfurinn said, clapping his hands decisively. "Time for the next step."

"Next step?" Sportacus echoed.

"We're going to pay a visit to Robbie," Iþrottaalfurinn said.

With the nimble agility of a cat, Iþrottaalfurinn jumped from the open door to his hot air balloon, landing neatly in the gondola. He beckoned Sportacus once, then started undoing the ropes tying the ship to the side.

"What?" Sportacus leaned out of the door, shaking his head. "I told you, I already tried. He won't open the door."

"You were being polite about it," Iþrottaalfurinn said and wagged his finger at him. "None of that. If you're right and he hasn't done anything wrong, he still knows something. Nevermind the magic—he knew how to open the trap, didn't he?"

"...true."

Sportacus stepped onto the gondola, holding onto the ropes as the whole balloon shook in the wind. And then Iþrottaalfurinn let go of the last rope and the balloon tilted back as they began to drop.

Sportacus grit his teeth and wondered how his brother managed to fly around, exposed to the elements, catching the wind and snow on his face. The air grew calmer as they came down, but still he felt like the balloon and gondola might separate at any moment.

"Relax!" Iþrottaalfurinn laughed, slapping him on the back. "You haven't really ridden this thing until you fly through a sea storm off the coast!"

Sportacus gave that comment the silence it deserved. He held onto the ropes the entire way, watching the earth come up so quickly that his stomach felt like it was flipping around. He glanced at his brother who was adjusting the flame and the weights, carefully taking them down to the bright lights of Robbie's billboard.

Clearly his brother knew Robbie well enough to know where he lived. When they arrived, Sportacus hoped that they didn't fight, that they didn't have to break in and demand answers. The last he had seen of Robbie, the fairy had been running awkwardly out of sight. He hoped that Robbie wouldn't put up as much of a fuss if he saw another elf with him.

But when they landed and knocked on the door, they heard nothing. No reply, no sarcasm, not even a recorded message. They shared a look, and then Iþrottaalfurinn put his hand on the hatch.

And drew back with a curse, shaking his hand quickly.

"Iþrott?"

"Warded," Iþrottaalfurinn grimaced. "Nasty little shock. My own fault. Should have guessed he'd do that."

"It didn't shock me before," Sportacus said.

Iþrottaalfurinn gave him a look but didn't reply.

"Well, it doesn't really matter," he said. "It's not a very strong ward. Stand back a bit."

Sportacus moved back behind the gondola, and he watched over the top as his brother put both hands on either side of the hatch. Iþrottaalfurinn said something, triggering a shower of blue sparks, and then the hatch came up smoothly.

Sportacus gasped at how easy that was, but it startled Iþrottaalfurinn, too, and he gave Sportacus a look before diving down feet first into the hatch. Sportacus came down more slowly, closing the hatch so that the snow didn't follow them in.

"—llooo?" Iþrottaalfurinn called out. "Helloooo!"

He put his hands on his hips, nodding once to himself.

"No wonder that was so easy," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "He's not here."

"He isn't?" Sportacus glanced around, half expecting to see the oversized cage Robbie had used to trap him.

"If he was, the door wouldn't have opened with just a little push." Iþrottaalfurinn shrugged. "Or else he's not as good at wards as with machines. Why, just look at all this."

Sportacus didn't need encouragement. Now that he wasn't busy with an emergency or looking after someone, he could take a moment to gaze around the lair. Everything was made of steel and glass, pipes and valves and switches and levers. Steam puffed out of little vents, and the faint sound of whirring fans hummed in the background.

"He made all of this?" he breathed. "By himself?"

His smile of wonder faded. The only comfortable spot seemed to be the orange sofa, all alone in the middle of a vast open space.

"I think I see what we're looking for," Iþrottaalfurinn said, heading to the table and pulling off the white sheet.

They both froze. Several traps lay on top of each other, each more sharp and rusted than the next. In fact, the ones on top had steel teeth that were narrow with curved tips, more like fangs than a real bear trap. Iþrottaalfurinn couldn't resist touching one, hefting one by its side.

"So heavy," he murmured. "And with all that weight slamming these jaws together...this was made to hurt. To mangle."

"He couldn't have made them," Sportacus said.

"He did." Iþrottaalfurinn tilted the trap to show off the Rotten trademark on the side. "He stamped them to make sure anyone who got caught knew who did it."

"I didn't see that on the first one," Sportacus insisted.

Iþrottaalfurinn shrugged. "Glamour. Or rust. None of these are new."

"If they're not new..." Sportacus crossed his arms. "If they're old, why are they suddenly showing up now?"

"Good question."

As Iþrottaalfurinn turned, the movement made something flutter off the table onto the floor. He swooped it up and smoothed the paper out, squinting as he read.

"Yup," he muttered. "Definitely a fae. None of them bother to learn how to spell."

Coming around, Sportacus looked over his shoulder at the messy handwritten notes. A smile started to grow as he read, and as his brother turned the page, Sportacus gave a triumphant crow.

"Ha! He's trying to figure out what it means, too! So he couldn't be doing it."

"I'll admit it," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "It makes me feel a little better. But it could be a lot of things. Spells can rebound, make people forget what they're doing. For now, we'll hope that it means we don't have to fight an angry fae."

Iþrottaalfurinn put the notes down, looking around themselves again.

"But then, if he's not here, then where—?"

The crystal on Sportacus' chest began to flash.


	6. Waking Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> art by BurrrdBrainedInsomnia (stuffdone on tumblr)

_Approximately fifteen minutes earlier..._

The alarm clock ticked closer to 8:00 pm, audibly counting down minute by minute. As the clock came one second away from going off, Robbie sighed and grabbed it off the table, hurling it against the far wall. Gears and springs smashed out into the air as the clock gave a tiny clang and fell silent.

"Note to self," he muttered, "don't make another one of those."

Kicking his legs over the side, he wrenched himself upright, his head hanging from his shoulders like a lead weight. He glared sideways at nothing in particular, bearing up under the effort of dragging in each breath. He'd thought that if he could just get comfortable, he might be able to sleep, but for the past three nights, nothing.

"Chair, you have betrayed me," he grumbled, pushing himself to his feet. "What's the point of a fluffy, soft sofa if feels so...so...?"

There were no words for it. Awkward? Smothering? Stiff? All angles, even though it was so plush that he sank into it? No matter how he shifted around on it, lying with his long legs up against the back, then turned so that he draped over both sides, he couldn't stop thinking of Sportacus standing there with the trap in his hands, understanding making his jaw drop. Seeing the Rotten trademark, realizing Robbie had something to do with—

"Enough of that," he said, standing straight and heading up the ladder, out into the snow.

He didn't know exactly what time Sportacus went to sleep, but he had never seen the hero out after dark save during rare emergencies. It was a fair bet that Robbie had the town to himself, late enough that the people wouldn't be out, early enough that nothing else was, either. He had an hour or two to move search the town without drawing attention.

He would need his own light, though, carefully curling his hand in the air and cupping a soft glow in his palm. The sky was black with a new moon hidden behind the clouds, and a fairy light gave him just enough of a glimmer to see by, but only because he already knew the way. The snow reflected the glow so that he walked in a sort of bubble of light, heading along the lonely road.

Distant from other towns and cities, Lazytown fought a pathetic battle against the night—all of the streetlamps had been left on, breaking up the darkness with tiny spots of light. Robbie paused, listening to the wind blowing snow.

Nothing.

He was all alone. The snow crunched audibly under his foot as he shifted. The people had grown tired of hunting for the monster and now barricaded themselves in their houses. Only Robbie wandered the town tonight.

Nervously glancing around himself, he came to the park and crouched behind the bench, hiding in the shadows covering the wall. He put his hand over his light, thoroughly hidden, and closed his eyes.

Faeries saw things that mortals couldn't—spotting lost things as if they were in plain sight, finding hidden paths where humans only saw a cliff or marsh. But using his sight took time, concentration, leaving him vulnerable as he bowed his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. The night lifted like a curtain, and he found his sight dragged swiftly along the ground, moving over exposed tree roots and around half-revealed soccer balls in the snow. His sight circled around, and he had the momentary disorientation of seeing himself as his sight moved past his light, curving around the wall...

...and then stopped.

Robbie froze. His shiver had nothing to do with the cold.

His last trap lay farther ahead, just under the ice cream cart. It hadn't been there yesterday—he knew because he'd checked the park for cantrips meant to hide it away. But it was there now, and in his mind's eye, he saw it sunk in the snow just behind the wheel.

He also saw it begin to shift, tilting this way and that as someone pulled it free from the ice. Very slowly, sliding along the ground with a faint scrape, the trap began to move.

Robbie swallowed once. He couldn't see the person's hands, just the black shape to show that someone was pulling the trap away from the park. The would-be killer was outside, and Robbie wasn't hearing these sounds in his mind. The metallic scrape echoed past the homes of the children, only a few feet away.

He smothered his light in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, hunching his shoulders. Even as his jaw clenched tight, he found himself mouthing "Sportacus" over and over, unable to make a sound. His heart pounded and, for once, he felt the cold chill of winter creeping in.

Why wasn't Sportacus here? Wasn't Robbie in danger?

Long minutes passed. Whoever was dragging the trap through the park was not strong, pulling the heavy steel inches at a time past the snowmen. At first Robbie thought that they'd put the trap where they'd caught their first victim, but instead they drew it out of the park and over the street into someone's yard.

They still hadn't noticed him, and Robbie felt far too vulnerable with only a bench to hide behind.

He almost fled then and there, but the trap suddenly stopped. Snow and dirt were tossed on top, and then the feeling of someone standing there began to fade.

He couldn't tell how long he sat there, waiting for the shadow to pass by. Did he imagine the footsteps in the soft snow, rattling bones and black whispers? He couldn't believe it was just the wind in the trees, scraping branches together and breathing around dead twigs. He wanted to summon up his fairy light, but he knew the moment he did, he'd be spotted. He didn't know how he knew. He just knew.

I'll sit here all night, he thought to himself, giving a tight nod. I'll sit here all night and I won't move, and it won't spot me, and I'll just wait for the stupid elf to come out and...

And find a kid in a bear trap.

Robbie cringed. His trap lay somewhere beneath some child's door. If he sat here for hours, he might hear the steel snap, hear bone crack and skin tear, hear the hiss of hot blood on ice, and hear the child's startled scream swallowed up in the trap's spell. He might hear the shadow come back and drag the child away, slowly stealing them back to wherever it came from.

Or he could get up and take back his trap.

Robbie sat still for a long time, listening. The wind cut across him, tearing holes in his spring glamour, like frost killing flowers. He knew he was alone now—the sense of something else in the night had gone—but his head couldn't convince his heart.

I'm no hero, he thought. That's Sportacus. That's his thing. I'm a villain. I'm lazy and I lie and I hide and I make terrible, terrible traps.

His mouth twisted.

That's my trap.

Whoever that is, that monster is using my traps. Everyone's going to think I did this and it's not my fault. It's not my fault!

In the end, it was stubborn pride and sullen anger that made him sit straight. When nothing attacked him, he chanced gathering his legs under himself, risked putting his hand on the bench and crouching. Went so far as to peek up over the edge of the wall.

A long furrow in the snow went from his ice cream cart to the closest house. Looking around several times, over his shoulder, up in the trees, scanning the whole park and what he could see of the town, he slowly crept around the wall and through the park, following the trail to the mayor's house. Sheared with long scratches, the gate hung on one hinge, gently swinging against the fence in the wind. Robbie winced when he saw it, gingerly hopping the fence.

There, positioned under the window, was the last trap, its smoky green runes smoldering in the air.

Now that he saw it, his focus came back. He just had to dispel the magic and take it away. Kneeling before it, he touched the four corners around it, leaving marks in the snow. If he—

The window latch clicked and a square of dim light spilled over him. Robbie startled back, gazing up with wide eyes as the window swung inward. An ambush—the killer had been waiting for him the whole time! He tried to scream and only managed a squeak.

"Robbie? What are you doing out here?"

The pink girl stared at him like he was insane. Robbie stared at her, his jaw dropped in a silent shriek, catching his breath only as he realized she wasn't lunging at him. He glanced down at the trap, then back up at her.

"Oh. Right," he muttered.

He was a grown man crouched over a trap underneath a little girl's window.

"This isn't what it looks like?" he tried.

"What isn't...?" Her voice trailed off as she spotted the glowing spells and the steel trap. "Is that what my uncle's been warning me about?"

She wasn't panicking. Good. Robbie exhaled, slumping his shoulders.

"Yes," he said. "Now be a good little girl and close your window again and go to sleep."

As usual, she ignored him, resting her arms on the window sill and looking down.

"It looks awful," she murmured. "It looks sharp."

"It is," he said, turning his attention back to his work. "It's very dangerous."

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "You want me to call my uncle? He could call the police so they can take care of it."

He looked back down, taking a deep breath.

"They wouldn't know how to stop it," he said.

He connected the four marks he'd made in the snow, drawing lines with his fingertip, and then brought the lines in toward the trap. The next part was tricky, sending roots of magic down from the lines to the hard ground and forcing them through the frozen dirt. The flow of magic had to be just right, and he tensed up as he concentrated. It felt like pushing a shovel hard into the earth, and he had to lean close to the trap, thankful that his long reach gave him a few inches of room just in case it triggered. But then the glowing sigils melted in the air and flowed down along the roots into the earth and vanished.

Sighing in relief, he leaned back and smiled.

"What'd you do?" she whispered, staring in wonder as the sickly green light faded.

"Made some of it go away," he said, not elaborating. "But it's still very dangerous. It'll take awhile to get rid of the shock it's got stored up in its spring, and then I have to disassemble the trigger. Then I can pull it apart and get rid of it."

Shifting uncomfortably, she watched him add more marks in the snow, leaving strange symbols in a circle around the trap. He whispered as he worked, and she thought she caught the faint flash of sparks along the steel.

"What're you doing now?" she asked.

"Aren't you cold?" he said, glaring sideways at her. "You're only in your pajamas."

"I've got the blanket," she said, leaning to one side so he could see the feather comforter wrapped up behind her back. "And uncle's got the fire in the wood stove going."

Over her shoulder, through her open bedroom door, Robbie glimpsed the orange flickering light coloring the hallway. What he assumed was her uncle's door was half-open, but the mayor's snores were faintly audible.

"You shouldn't have the window open anyway," he muttered. "It's dangerous out here."

"Then how come you're out here?"

His mouth twisted into a grimace, and he turned away with a huff. Stephanie rolled her eyes, knowing the silent treatment when she saw it, but she kept watching him work.

For Robbie's part, the question demanded answers even if he didn't give them voice.

I don't want to get in trouble, he thought to himself. It has my name on it and it's hurting people. And I don't want Sportacus to be mad at me. Or madder than he already is. And I don't want someone else getting caught in these. And I don't want to be out here any more than I have to be because I know there's someone else out here, I just know it.

But he didn't hear anyone outside anymore. The night was silent save for the soft puffs of snowflakes against the roof. And the light from her window was a comfort, the gold glow of her bedside lamp letting the warmth of the home spread out into the darkness. He was even relieved for the company, now that she wasn't asking ridiculous questions.

There. The air shifted as the charge suddenly slipped out of the trap, returning to the earth. Robbie sighed. Drawing a circle of sigils took time and strength, and he leaned back on his knees to ease the strain in his shoulders.

"Can you take a break?" she asked. "You've been at it for awhile."

"Taking out the trigger is still tricky." He shook his head once. "I don't want to be out here any longer than I have to be. It's...it's not safe."

She frowned, looking out toward the park and the other houses. She could only spot the lights over each door, and even those were hard to see.

"The moon isn't even out," she whispered.

"End of the month," he said. "It'll be dark for the next couple nights."

"Why don't you just come in?" she asked.

Robbie sat straight, his eyes wide as a thought caught him off guard.

"No," he breathed. "No no no, don't do that—"

"Don't do what?" She leaned away from him as he turned toward her.

"That," he said, stumbling over his own words. "That—the whole—don't let anyone in. Don't—the lights, turn on your lights, turn on all your—"

With a faint, buzzing thump, the lamp flickered and died. The digital display of her clock faded and went out. The everyday low hum of electricity dwindled to nothing, leaving the crackle of the wood stove and the flickering orange flames in the hallway.

Her jaw dropping in shock, she looked over her shoulder at the growing darkness, then back at Robbie.

Neither of them spoke.

And then came the faint tapping at a window somewhere in her house.

"That's..." Stephanie whispered.

Robbie hissed at her to stay quiet, and she leaned toward him, all but sitting on her windowsill.

"That's the kitchen," she said.

The tapping grew louder, more insistent, rattling the glass.

"What's—"

The sound of glass cracking and shattering on the floor. Cold wind blew through the hallway and past Stephanie, snuffing the wood stove as the hall turned black.

"Get out of there," Robbie whispered. "Get—"

"My uncle—" she breathed.

"Pink girl, come on—"

The tapping stopped.

Both of them froze, staring at each other, not sure what that meant. Robbie came to his feet, hands on the sill, straining to hear the smallest sound. His breath refused to come. He realized, finally, what they were dealing with.

There came a distinct, simple knock at the back door.

And in the other bedroom, from the door opened only a few inches, a low and sleepy murmur as her uncle answered from the depths of his dream. "Come...come on...in..."

From out of sight, the back door slammed open with such a crash that there was no doubt it had split in half. Heavy footsteps charged into the house, the sound of someone knocking over a table, smashing a vase, not slowing as they ran down the hallway—

* * *

Stephanie caught a glimpse of her door thrown wide, and then something—like a blanket made of leather and steel—wrapped around her and yanked her out of the window, tumbling backward into the air. She heard Robbie's heavy breathing, heard her window slam shut and then felt the force shattering the glass.

The same force knocked her down into the snow. Someone's hands grabbed her shoulders and hauled her upright, yanking her across her lawn and over the fence, forcing her to run. Snow stung her bare feet and soaked her pajamas, and there was a harsh push against her back, making her stumble to her knees.

"—the light! Get in the—"

Someone was screaming. She didn't get to her feet so much as she half-crawled, burying her hands in snow until she felt dirt, forcing herself to move forward. Her shoulder hit something hard enough to make her feel sick—she whimpered and started to curl up, laying down in the snow.

Hard hands dug into her sides, making her yelp, and then she was no longer in the snow. She opened her eyes, putting out her arms and legs trying to find the ground. Whoever was carrying her jerked her awkwardly in the air, pulling her up, then dropping her so fast she thought she would land facefirst. She screamed, hoping Robbie would hear her.

The hands gripping her waist suddenly let go. She tumbled head over heels, landing in snow so brilliantly white that it blinded her. Coughing, wiping her hands across her eyes, she blinked and squinted so that the bright blur started to fade.

Long legs in purple and orange—that was Robbie standing in front of her, with something dark hanging onto his back. She couldn't see around him, even when he crouched low enough to put his hands on the ground. And in front of him, something that paced around the snow, around the edges of what she now saw was a single street light shining over them. She couldn't see anything beyond its gold circle.

Whatever Robbie was shielding her from, it was growling. It slashed at the air, and something sparkled at the edge of its arm. It lunged, jaws snapping, and its eyes glittered.

"Robbie..." she said, her voice starting to crack.

"Stay in the light," he said over his shoulder. "Stay behind me."

"What is it?" she said, curling up tight and scooting away. "Robbie, what is—"

Something grabbed her pajama top. Her words ended in a scream as she started to slide out of the light, and as she tried to grab at the dirt, something grabbed her ankle. When she looked backward, she saw white eyes gleaming in the shadows.

And then something just as dark swept between her and the shadows, whipping so fast around that it had wrapped around her and pulled her out of the thing's grasp, pulling her up against Robbie's side.

This close, she realized that she wasn't seeing blurs. The things hanging on Robbie's back weren't shadows or heavy blankets. They were wings, bat wings, and the tips ended in hooked claws that he used to swipe at the thing in the darkness in front of them.

She didn't know what to think. She closed her eyes and felt the wing around her tighten, warm and protective against the snowfall. It didn't help the stinging sensation on her legs and feet, the snow bitterly biting into her, but she curled into it, instinctively leaning into its heat. And then she went sprawling as the wing suddenly yanked away from her.

Someone was screaming. Robbie, she realized, when she saw him being dragged toward the edge of the light. His wing was stretched out tight, bent awkwardly around in his shoulder, and as she watched, his other wing came up and around, raking against where the shadow's face would have been. A sudden shriek—black ichor sprayed the snow, steaming in the cold air, and Robbie stumbled back from the edge.

Her sense of relief faded as he landed sideways in the snow. His wing lay canted out beneath him, crumpled halfway, and when she crept over him, coming up on her knees, she found his hand pressed against his side. Dark liquid welled up over his fingers in a spreading circle that began to color his vest.

"Robbie?" she said, giving him a faint nudge. "Robbie?"

His eyes stared at the light over them, then closed. He relaxed under her hand, and his breathing came slower.

Stephanie sat back on her legs, holding his hand. The snowfall began to come heavier, huge flakes stinging her cheeks, and the wind cut through her soaked pajamas. Heavy steps paced around the circle of light, audibly crunching in the snow. She sniffled and lowered her head, not wanting to look, and after a moment, she didn't hear it anymore.

Long minutes passed. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't call for help. If someone heard her and came out and that—that—that whatever it was was still there...she didn't even know where she was. There were only house lights here by the park. Unless Robbie had taken them farther somehow...but there were no street lamps in view, just this one he'd brought them to.

No. Not a streetlamp. The light above her wasn't a lamp but just a glowing golden ball, and it dripped little sparks like cinders that burnt up in the air.

"I'm dreaming," she murmured. "I'm just dreaming, and I'm going to wake up and I'll be safe in bed and it'll be morning."

Snow crunched. She stiffened, not wanting to look up. Whatever had hurt Robbie, it was sitting right in front of her. Less than a meter away, held back only by a light that shouldn't have been there, it sat and watched her silently.

Her face scrunched up as her temper won over her fear, and she scooped a hasty snowball and threw it with all the skill of playing games with Sportacus for weeks and months. The snowball splashed against something solid. She couldn't see what it had landed on, but she saw the snow slip off, saw bits of snow hovering in the night, and fancied that two of the larger bits weren't snow but eyes.

"You're a nightmare," she said, shaking her head. "You're just a—"

It shifted. She didn't know how she knew—she could barely hear it move and she only saw it with the snow—but she knew it was there and she knew it was moving. Readjusting. Leaning as close as it could as if it could push its darkness into her little haven. And there was nothing either of them could do but wait.

She lay down beside Robbie, resting her head on his outflung arm. Now that her panic was wearing off and dread was setting in, she began to shiver, feeling the cold sinking into her.

"I'm cold," she whispered. "And my shoulder hurts."

Robbie didn't answer. But his good wing rose and settled over her, shielding her from the wind, warm against her skin. It was too small to cover her properly, so she curled and huddled against him. With snowflakes in her lashes, she fell asleep thinking she lay in a golden field of dandelion seeds scattering in a spring wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two parts because this chapter just grew monstrously huge. Massive thank you's for any comments received. They're all that keep me going when putting out over 6000 words.


	7. A Lull in the Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Water color art by H0w_d0_y0u_d0_fell0w_kids

Sportacus climbed out of the lair with Iþrottaalfurinn right behind him, coming around the billboard just in time for the lights to flicker and turn dark. Startled, Sportacus looked to see if they had triggered some kind of alarm or trap.

"That's not good," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "The power's out."

"How can you be sure?" Sportacus asked, looking up at the sky. "Airship—"

Iþrottaalfurinn grabbed his brother and forced him to turn around.

"Look," he said. "All of Lazytown is dark."

"...oh."

For as long as he'd been there, Lazytown had never suffered a power outage. As lazy as everyone was, electricity was simply a matter of life or death. With the town dark, it wouldn't take long for the winter to creep into their homes and freeze everyone inside. Wood stoves and fireplaces could only do so much, especially if people were fast asleep and didn't notice until it was too late.

"Do you think someone cut the power lines?" Sportacus asked.

"No," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "And I'm starting to think I need to give you remedial magic lessons. Can't you feel it in the air?"

Sportacus paused, taking a deep breath. "Maybe...a little. Like oil?"

"Exactly. Dark magic." Iþrottaalfurinn reached into his pocket, then grimaced. "Dammit, I forgot I used my last flare during the flight. Do you have any flares?"

"A couple emergency ones," Sportacus said as he reached into his backpack.

"No no, real flares," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "The kind from home."

Elf lights, the kind that glowed without sparks and stayed lit longer than human lights, but also the kind they didn't tend to use in front of people. Nevermind that the white bulb would blossom open like a flower—the lights would only work for an elf of his clan. Anyone would see nothing. Only the craftsmen back home could fashion something like that, and Sportacus tended to favor human lights more readily, since it would work for everyone and he didn't have to wrestle with tricky spells.

"Backpack," he said, "elven flares."

A side panel opened and a single bulb spilled into his hand. Sportacus gave it a spin, and the bulb turned and flared out like a lotus flower, spreading a white glow around him.

"Just one," he said. "Will it be enough?"

"It should," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I just don't want anyone to see us coming. Are you still worthless in a fight?"

"Still better than you," Sportacus said.

"Then let's go!"

As they ran, Sportacus kept slightly in the lead to better light the path for his brother. He jumped snowdrifts and places where the pavement had cracked and then filled in with ice, and his brother didn't miss a beat. Sportacus became acutely aware of their breathing, their footfalls on the ground. The snow had begun falling again, but even the wind had died, leaving the night silent.

If Robbie was in trouble, then he had probably met whoever had attacked the children, and Robbie was not a fighter. Sportacus hoped they made it in time and ran faster, trusting his brother to keep up.

So that when they turned the corner and came around the first house, the fairy light over Robbie's prone body appeared so quickly that they almost tripped over him. As Sportacus stumbled, he spotted a flash of pink hair underneath the shadows around Robbie.

"Stephanie?" he said, kneeling beside her. "Oh my god, she's here, too. We have to—"

"No," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Not yet."

Sportacus followed his look and froze.

Two eyes glared out of the darkness, smoldering like white hot coals. As his flare came close, the creature shied back, just out of sight, but its low growling grew louder. A gleam of light flashed on a mouthful of fangs opening too close to his face.

"Too big to be a goblin," Iþrottaalfurinn breathed, easing away from the edge of the light. "Not a huldra. Too many teeth to be a draugr. There are no feral elves nearby, are there?"

"No," Sportacus said. "Nothing nearby except a few trolls in the mountains."

More cautious of the darkness, he eased down beside Robbie and found that what he'd thought were shadows were black wings jutting out at the shoulder. He winced at how one of them lay twisted underneath Robbie's body, twisted in its socket and crumpled, and he spotted a dark stain under Robbie's hand.

Sportacus gently lifted the good wing out of the way, and Stephanie winced and curled tighter as the wind struck her. He nudged her, but her eyes fluttered and closed again.

"She's freezing," Sportacus said. "And Robbie's hurt."

"Bad?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked.

"Bad enough. It stopped bleeding, but I don't think that's a good thing."

"Damn."

The thing in front of them glared at Iþrottaalfurinn, not glancing at Sportacus or his prey. It seemed child-sized, but Iþrottaalfurinn knew too well how deceiving that could be. A monster could compact itself, then unwind and unravel, towering over men, strong enough to break down doors. That it didn't snarl and rage and threaten was not a good sign.

"You're not afraid of us," Iþrottaalfurinn said softly. "Are you?"

It stared at him for another moment, then leaned closer and scratched at the snow. Long claws flawed out, scorched as they hit the light, then flinched back into the darkness.

"It's testing the edges," Sportacus said. He waved his flare forward, snapping his hand away when the monster made a swipe for it. "I don't think it cares about my light. Just Robbie's."

"That makes sense," Iþrottaalfurinn said, not elaborating.

Robbie's light had dimmed, no longer the bright gold it had been before, instead as pale as a dying street lamp. Of course the monster was just waiting. A few more minutes and it would have its meal.

"Do you think you could carry them both?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked.

Sportacus shook his head. "No way. Robbie's not that heavy, but two at once? I'd lose my grip."

"S'what I thought..."

Iþrottaalfurinn took a deep breath, sizing up the creature he couldn't see, stretching his arms and popping the joint in his neck. Loosening up, he jogged in place for a few seconds.

"There's no help for it," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "You'll have to take the girl and make a run for it. I'll keep it busy."

"What?" Sportacus said. "I must have misheard you. It sounded like you came up with something ridiculous."

"I'm not joking," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "If you make it to your ship, you can come back. Maybe its lights will have better luck than a flare."

"Iþrott'—"

"She's freezing to death," Iþrottaalfurinn snapped, and he took some satisfaction in how his brother flinched. "And that fairy's light is running out of power. If you want her to have any chance, stop arguing with me and go."

"You know," Sportacus said with a pointed look, "you really should think about asking the elders for a new ship."

"What?"

A tight spotlight flashed down on them. Iþrottaalfurinn looked up at the sky as the tiny lights of his brother's ship descended, now visible against the clouds. At Sportacus' command, the ladder unfurled itself and smacked neatly into Iþrottaalfurinn's hand.

"It comes when you—?" Iþrottaalfurinn shook his head. "No, nevermind. I'm not going to question this now. You take the girl and go first."

"Right."

As Sportacus scooped her up, Stephanie whimpered and turned her face away, murmuring that he was burning hot. He put her arms around his neck and told her to hold tight, lifting her with one arm and grabbing the ladder with the other.

"I can't climb and hold onto you at the same time," he whispered. "You have to hang on, okay? Can you do that?"

Choking on tears, she couldn't reply except to hold tight.

"Good girl," he said, going quickly but smoothly, refusing to rush as if there were no monster below and no freezing wind around them. Better to take a few extra seconds than to slip and fall.

Below, Iþrottaalfurinn held the ladder taut, staring down the monster he couldn't see.

"The child's gone," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "You've lost this round."

Nothing. No snarling, no hissing. Silence.

"You can't have the fae, either. You go hungry tonight."

The creature tilted its head. Iþrottaalfurinn didn't know if it understood him, but then the eyes blinked out and the creature vanished.

"Don't think I assume you're gone," he murmured. He heard no crushed snow, no change in the wind to mark the subtle difference of its absence. "But that just leaves me with a new problem."

Dropping to one knee, he pulled Robbie's wing out of the way and put an arm around him, easily hefting the taller man like a sack. The wings sagged awkwardly, dragging after them, and Iþrottaalfurinn grabbed the ladder and put both feet on the rungs. There was no way he could climb like his brother had, but perhaps—

He gave a groan of relief that he would never admit to as the ladder started to rise, hauling them up. Below them, the fairy light lost its last petal and faded to darkness. Iþrottaalfurinn wondered where the monster would go, where its lair lay hidden, as they lifted away from the ground, the comforting lights of the town flickered and came back on. Wherever the monster had gone, it was taking its magic with it.

And Sportacus was there, standing recklessly on the door as usual, arms outstretched to help pull up Robbie so that Iþrottaalfurinn could climb the rest of the way. As Iþrottaalfurinn came up over the door, he felt the ladder briefly snag on what he figured was a tree branch, and he kicked the ladder twice, pulling hard. Below, he heard a snap and the wind howling, and then the ladder wound up.

"I wouldn't trade in my balloon for anything," Iþrottaalfurinn said, pulling the door shut and wiping snow off his clothes. "But I might ask for a ladder like that."

Sportacus didn't reply, carrying Robbie to one of the beds that had lowered from the wall. They weren't as comfortable as a normal bed, little more than a futon on a steel shelf, but they were better than the floor and much better than the snow. As he lay Robbie down, he turned him to one side, allowing his mangled wing to rest at the edge.

Iþrottaalfurinn went to the other bed and found the little girl wide awake, clutching a heavy blanket of feather down. Her snow soaked pajamas lay on the floor beneath her, and the pink sleeves of an overly large robe hung over her hands. She had curled up with a pillow against the wall, more comfortable than the steel bed, but when he put the back of his hand on her forehead, he found her cold and clammy.

"No way of knowing how long you were out there," he said softly.

She half-shrugged and kept looking at Robbie.

Iþrottaalfurinn looked at the ship around him, all gleaming white walls and smooth surfaces. In his balloon, he had a trunk that held his gear—seeds, tools and medical supplies. Here...

"Ship," he said. "Uh...hot water bottles?"

A broad panel beside him opened, revealing basic first aid items, including a small faucet and sink.

"Entirely too spoiled," he said.

"Would you rather take care of them in your cramped gondola?" Sportacus asked. "Open to the elements?"

"I do have shutters I can close," Iþrottaalfurinn said, wrap several hot water bottles in towels and tucking them under Stephanie's blanket. "Still...as much as I like sleeping in the open air, I admit, this overblown zeppelin of yours has its advantages. Is there a way to turn the lights off? I'd like to let her sleep awhile."

"Ship," Sportacus said. "Curtains. Rear lights to...hm. Twenty percent."

Steel rods extended into the space above each side of the beds, followed by thin white curtains that provided their patients with a little privacy. The lights above Stephanie dimmed, and she visibly relaxed, laying her head to the side on her pillow. Iþrottaalfurinn sat on the edge of the bed, relieved that she didn't shy away from him.

"You're safe now," he said. "Do you understand that?"

Her eyes focused on him. Swallowing once, she gave a small nod.

"My name is Iþrottaalfurinn," he said, "but everyone calls me Iþrott. I'm Sportacus' brother."

Her eyes widened. She glanced from him to his brother and back, studying his costume, noticing now the crystal bobbing on his hat.

"Are you a hero, too?" she asked, pushing the blanket down a few inches so that it wasn't a shield between them.

"Yes, I'm number eight," he said. "My brother sent a letter to me awhile ago, and I just arrived tonight. I'm glad I did, too. I wouldn't want him to have to face that thing alone."

Now she sat straight, her mouth pressed into a flat line. With her shoulders squared and her head lifted, she didn't seem like a frightened child. Iþrottaalfurinn half-smiled. She looked like a little soldier.

"What was that thing?" she said. "It came after me—it hurt Robbie—it almost dragged me away. Is he gonna be okay? Was it what was setting out traps? Are you gonna fight it?"

"Hold your horses," Iþrottaalfurinn said, smiling the rest of the way. "You're a little fighter, eh? Thank goodness. Other children, they sometimes won't stop screaming after facing one of those things. But I guess it helped that you weren't alone."

They both glanced at the curtain screening Robbie and Sportacus from view. From the shadows moving against the white fabric, Sportacus was pulling off the last of Robbie's soaked clothing and carefully arranging the blanket over his wing.

"So the answer to all your questions," said Iþrottaalfurinn, "is yes. Your friend will be okay. That thing is indeed the monster in the town. And yes, Sportacus and I are going to kill it."

"What is it?" she asked. "I couldn't see anything."

"It's..." Iþrottaalfurinn sighed heavily. "Well, one of many different breeds of specific monsters. Child devourers, we call them. The things that you're afraid are under the bed or in the closet. Before I say for sure, because all of them are a little different, I need to ask a favor of you."

"A favor?" she echoed.

"I need you to tell me a story," he said. "Of how it came to attack you. We need to know if the rest of the town is in immediate danger, or if we have a little time. Can you do this?"

She bit her lip. The man before her was strange—the resemblance to Sportacus was so obvious that she didn't question that they were brothers—but he was older. He felt more like he was in control, while Sportacus always felt just a few steps away from childhood himself. Iþrottaalfurinn said things like "we" and talked more formally, as if he had a whole bunch of people behind him. She always knew that there were several heroes—there had to be if Sportacus was number nine and had that huge airship—but this man acted like an authority figure.

She didn't think Iþrottaalfurinn would leave if any of Robbie's tricks ever worked.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "Um...where do I start?"

"Well," he said, "when did things start going strangely?"

"...I guess..." she said, drawing out the syllable. "I guess it was when I heard someone rustling around under my window. I opened it and leaned out—"

Iþrottaalfurinn's eyes widened.

"Just like that?" he gaped. "When it's freezing and dark and it could be a monster out there, and you just open it like...like..."

She gave that little breath that children do when they are not impressed by the adult in front of them.

"It's a window," she said, suddenly not so sure that this man was in control. "You can see through them."

There was a snort from the other side of the curtain. Iþrottaalfurinn didn't acknowledge it, although he gave a Stephanie a look.

"My apologies," he said. "Please go on. I won't interrupt again."

As she spoke, Sportacus came around with a steaming cup of hot chocolate that he gave to her, and he leaned against the wall to listen.

"It was Robbie," she said. "He was doing something to the trap that someone...um, that thing had put outside my window."

"Did he say what he was doing?" Sportacus asked.

"Kinda?" she said. "That he was taking something out of it.. There were little lights and sparks and symbols in the air. He wouldn't talk much, and he wouldn't come in, and he said I shouldn't ever invite anyone in and to turn on all the lights, and..."

Her gaze lowered into the cup.

"The lights all went out, even the wood stove. And then uncle said something in his sleep and the kitchen window crashed, and I heard something running down the hall."

Sportacus shifted and shared a look with his brother, who nodded once.

"And then something big grabbed me and yanked me backward into the snow. Someone picked me up, but they dropped me, and then there was a lot of yelling and screaming and...Robbie said to stay in the light. And something tried to pull me into the dark and then Robbie grabbed me back with his...with his..."

She looked up at them, her eyes overly wide, the cup trembling in her hands.

"Does Robbie really have wings?" she asked. "I didn't...I didn't dream all that?"

Iþrottaalfurinn took a breath, loathe to lift the veil between themselves and humans for any reason. Even for one of the world's most notorious villains, he would keep that secret since revealing them had terrible repercussions. Elves found their homes stalked by the curious. Fae had to find a new lair lest they be hunted down. And humans came to question their sanity.

Sportacus took the cup from her before it spilled.

"It's...you were very much in danger," Sportacus said. "And there really was a monster. None of this was a dream."

She gave them a long look that said she wasn't satisfied with that.

"But you're asking something we can't answer," Sportacus said. "Because it would be rude."

She blinked. "'Rude'?"

"It's not our secret to tell," Sportacus said, grimacing at how weak that sounded to his own ears. "I know, it doesn't help. But—"

A groan came from the other bed.

"Oh, just spit it out already," Robbie muttered. "Pink girl's already seen the damn things."

"You're awake!"

Sportacus was already pulling the curtain back, revealing Robbie sitting up, his broken wing draped across his lap. The ship lights showed how pale he was, and how his hand pressed against the wound in his side hidden under the blanket. As he shifted, trying to find a position that didn't hurt, he grimaced and turned away from them, waving Sportacus off.

"Get the story out of her and put her to sleep," he hissed. "Unless you want her awake when I heal this thing, 'cause it's not going to be pretty."

"Does it hurt a lot?" she asked, clutching the blanket like a stuffed toy. Her face drew tight in worry. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Robbie would have snapped. Should have snapped that he would be all right when stupid humans didn't attract the attention of monsters in the dead of night. That stupid humans who didn't know the rules stopped dragging poor innocent fae into stupid human problems. But he heard her voice shake and heard the tears welling up in her eyes, and he gave an exasperated sigh.

"It's not that bad," he lied. "It'll be loud when I heal it, and it's damned uncomfortable right now."

He heard her sniffle, and after a moment her breathing grew steady again.

"Okay. Good. Um." She bit her lip. "Thank you for saving me."

It was an odd feeling, he decided, being thanked.

"Whatever," he said. "Now finish telling them the story so we can all get some rest."

She tried to describe the fight and what she'd seen, but everything had happened so quickly that all she remembered was being dragged back and then being saved by Robbie's wing curling around her. And then Robbie had collapsed and couldn't get up again, and she couldn't go anywhere, so she just lay down next to him to wait, because Sportacus always came to save the day.

"That's right," Sportacus said, ignoring his brother's mild shake of his head. "As long as I can, I'll come to save you."

"I knew you would," she said, but it ended in a yawn. She snuggled into the pillow as he tucked the blanket around her, and in a moment she was asleep.

"Perfect timing," Iþrottaalfurinn said, touching her forehead again. "She does feel warmer. Still, as soon as the sun comes up, she should go to the hospital, just to be sure."

"Good idea," Sportacus said. "I can take her and let her uncle know where she is."

"Whatever, whatever," Robbie muttered, dragging himself up and turning so that his legs hung off the bed. "Is she good and out finally?"

"Yes," Sportacus said. "I added a little agrimony and rock rose to the chocolate. She'll get some good rest for awhile."

Before Sportacus had finished talking, Robbie pushed the blanket off and leaned to his left, pulling taut the wound on his side. Sportacus grimaced to see it, a deep slice along too-prominent ribs. The blood that flaked its edges glimmered with a pink sheen, half covering the blackened veins spreading from the slash like cracks.

"Good God, it wasn't so bad before," Sportacus said, standing straight. "Let me—"

"Didn't ask for your help," Robbie said through clenched teeth, covering the wound with his hand.

Light spread under his fingers, and he choked back his cry as the skin cauterized, the jagged edges pulling together again. He trembled, every muscle drawing tight as he healed...and then he gasped and slumped, grabbing the edge of the bed before he fell. The gash was now a pale scar across his skin, still surrounded by black veins.

"Wow," Sportacus breathed.

"You've never seen fairy magic?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked. "Flashy stuff."

"It's fast," Robbie said over his shoulder. "Not your slow-growing plant stuff."

Iþrottaalfurinn didn't argue. "Do you need a hand with that wing?"

Robbie breathed deep, clenching his hands on the bed. He didn't automatically dismiss the offer. His wing was far worse off than a cut, no matter how deep.

"...no," he said finally. "Bad to mix magic like that. Like two engines pulling in different directions."

Iþrottaalfurinn could have mentioned that he'd done it once before, but he didn't want to distract the other man from what would be difficult mend. Robbie's bat wings were joined at his shoulders, but the right wing had not only been crumpled in the middle—the joint had been nearly twisted the wrong way around. Torn skin showed white bone underneath, all of it covered in the same half-dried pearlescent blood.

"Isn't there anything we can do for the pain?" Sportacus asked.

Robbie didn't answer. After one more breath, he brought his hands up as if holding a ball. Pink energy gathered inside, and he turned one hand. There was a sickening succession of cracks as his wing was forced a quarter turn back in the right direction. Robbie leaned forward, groaning loudly, and the joint turned again. He slipped off the bed, going to his knees on the floor.

Watching, turning away, looking over his shoulder in helpless frustration, Sportacus glanced at Iþrottaalfurinn, who shook his head and motioned to him to wait a moment.

With a final turn, the joint snapped back into place. Despite the fresh blood, Robbie sighed in relief and flopped back against the wall, mouth slack. His wing was still crumpled, but it lay on the cool tiles and he could forget about it for a moment.

"Robbie?" Sportacus asked, looking over the bed. "Do you need any help?"

"Hard part's done." Robbie's eyes half shut. "Gonna lay here for a bit."

"Your wing is still hurt."

"I'll get it in a minute," Robbie said. "It's not that bad. I've hurt it worse falling out of trees."

He startled as the blanket was pushed off the bed over his lap.

"I had to carry you all the way up here," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "You better not freeze."

Robbie glared at him, but he didn't toss the blanket away, either.

"Big brother, huh?" Robbie said. "You're a bigger annoyance, that's for sure."

"Yes, yes, you're welcome," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Now since the little one is asleep, let's have a bit of a different conversation, mm?"

Robbie heard his tone change into something far more serious. He drew his legs up under himself, ready to vanish, all too aware that there was nowhere to vanish to. The ship was a pretty white prison to hold him in. Of course the elf would start interrogating him now while he couldn't run.

"It wasn't my fault," Robbie said.

"The traps all had a trademark on them," Iþrottaalfurinn said.

"Those weren't my spells," Robbie said. "You know that wasn't fae magic. And if I was doing it, then what was that thing that almost ate me?"

"A partnership gone wrong, maybe?" Iþrottaalfurinn's look hardened. "It's not unknown for fae to take children."

"Okay, that's it," Robbie growled, trying to push himself up on the wall and grumbling as his feet slid out. "Just as soon as I can get up..."

"You really want to try to fight?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked, and he stood straight. "In your condition?"

"Oh, I'll show you a fight," Robbie said, eyes flashing. "I've dealt with one of you before."

"Number Nine wasn't as experienced as I am."

"Enough!" Sportacus snapped, coming between them, hands out to keep them apart. "There's no need to fight. Did you forget that monster already?"

"I'm trying to find out about that thing," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "And he's not talking."

"There's no one worth talking to," Robbie snapped, cursing as he slipped again, his wing sending him into an off-balance heap on the floor.

Wincing as his head hit the irritatingly immaculate tiles, Robbie hissed and pushed himself up.

Only because he was on the floor did he see it.

From the back of the ship where the lights were dimmest, a long shadow flowed out from behind the rear hatch, an indistinct shape of sharp edges that crawled—one clawed hand outstretched after another—across the floor, stopping just under Stephanie's bed.

Where its head would be, the dark silhouette split, revealing a wide mouth of long, serrated teeth. The eyes, white hot and glowing, focused on Robbie, whose jaw dropped but no sound came out no matter the breaths he was gulping down.

And then the creature reared up, silent as the snow, and pierced the bed completely through with its claws in a deafening shriek of twisting steel.


	8. Glass Shards on Ice

**Part 8**

Curled against the pillow, Stephanie slipped in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of the men arguing around her. Robbie and the new person, Iþrottaalfurinn, grumbled and snarled until Sportacus snapped at them both. Then came a loud thump on the floor and the door creaking behind her.

Her face tightened as she dug into the pillow, which wasn't a teddy bear but it was large and soft enough to hug, and if she hid under the blanket, then maybe she would feel safer. After a nightmare, burrowing under the covers had always made her feel safe.

Tonight, it didn't help.

Her parents had told her that adults would keep her safe. Then her uncle had reassured her that she had nothing to fear. Monsters weren't real and magic didn't exist. Now she heard two heroes and one villain arguing over what had happened that night, and although she couldn't understand everything they said, she understood the main part.

Magic. Monsters.

The other adults in her life had lied. She'd always suspected—a house made too much noise at night, the wind blew wrong when the sun went down—but now she knew that there were things in the night, ans those things saw her as a snack. It was smart enough to trick its way into her house, and it was strong enough to make Sportacus and his brother afraid. Something in the snow knew what she looked like and had almost dragged her into the dark.

So when the same snarl came from behind her and the bed suddenly twisted and caved in at the center, she wasn't surprised.

She screamed as she turned, seeing sharp teeth in a black mouth, black claws punching through the bed. Its eyes locked on her, and she remembered how it stared at her from just outside the circle of light. A circle that wasn't there anymore.

She threw herself sideways and its jaws snapped on empty air. As she tumbled to the floor, something heavy and strong wrapped around her like a leather blanket. It pulled her across the tiles, sliding under the other bed and into someone's arms.

The thing leaped her bed, landed so that its claws scraped the smooth tiles. Screaming, Stephanie tried to get up, to crawl away, to do anything but watch it coming closer. It was inches away—in another second—

Iþrottaalfurinn grabbed the creature's neck, yanking it backward with one smooth motion. It flailed, destroying the other bed as its claws raked the air, and then Iþrottaalfurinn hurled it against the far wall. Blood splashed the wall from behind its head as it slid down in a limp heap.

"Quit screaming, pink girl," came the mutter behind her, "it's not helping."

She finally scrambled free, scooting backward so that she came up against the command chair. Gasping for air, her eyes wide, she could finally see the thing that had been stalking her.

It was all legs and arms, spindly and covered in smooth oily skin like a black widow. Its claws lay splayed out, gleaming like its fangs, and Sportacus and Iþrottaalfurinn moved to stand between her and it. From around their feet, she saw it start to draw its limbs in, pushing itself back to its feet.

"Robbie," Sportacus said over his shoulder. "Can you—?"

"Shut up shut up shut up—"

Robbie less sat than toppled down next to Stephanie. There was a flash of purple around his legs and then he was wearing long pants without his usual stripes. He ran his hand along them, feeling that they were real.

"Good good," he muttered, cupping his hands in front of himself. "Not doing this without something on at least..."

The monster sprang up at Iþrottaalfurinn's face. Stephanie shrieked, startling Robbie so that he shielded himself as if she was about to hit him. When she didn't, he peered at her face, then glanced back. Iþrottaalfurinn had ducked, leaving Sportacus to do a spinkick that caught the creature's face but also left him open to the claws that raked his leg.

"Try not to get close to it," Iþrottaalfurinn said.

"Then how do we fight it?" Sportacus said. "It doesn't care about our magic."

Robbie turned back and put his wing out, blocking Stephanie's view.

"Don't watch," he said as he lifted his hands again. "And quit freaking out or else you'll make me freak out, too."

The scolding didn't calm her down, but the wing suddenly in front of her face caught her attention. Black skin stretched across black bones, with curled talons on each tip. Darker veins spread through the wing, but with it so close to her face, she could see that the skin was translucent. The blurry outlines of Sportacus and Iþrottaalfurinn moved back and forth around the airship, herding the monster between them.

Light sparked in Robbie's hands, spinning and blossoming out into a flower.

Behind him, the blurry outlines of Sportacus and Iþrottaalfurinn turned, arms outstretched, and a third shadow struck the side of the ship, bounded across the bed and—

She screamed as Robbie fell sideways, sprawling across the floor as—

Fangs. Needle sharp fangs and burning white eyes in a coal black face. Stephanie pressed back against the chair as it leaned forward, jaws widening.

And then it flinched away as the whole front of its face and claws smoldered, bursting into flame as it reeled backward. A high pitched shriek followed as it flailed, slashing past Iþrottaalfurinn and falling back into the ship.

"You stupid fairy!" Iþrottaalfurinn clutched his arm close to staunch the blood welling over his fingers. "You set it on fire!"

"You'd rather it eat the kid?" Robbie crawled up on all fours, pushing his drooping wing out of his face.

"I'd rather it wasn't on fire in an airship!"

"I didn't see you doing anything to help her!"

"Of course not—your back was turned—"

"I was doing something useful!"

Sportacus, ignoring the screaming, dodged the flailing creature with a somersault that had him landing on a panel in the floor. The airship lurched backwards and to the left, and as they began to slide, Sportacus commanded the door to open. Iþrottaalfurinn yelled, but his brother ignored him—there was no time to change his plan, even if he was closer and in the way. Then Sportacus and the monster vanished out into the night.

"Stephanie!" Iþrottaalfurinn was already sliding to the door, catching himself before he went through. "Just stay put! We'll be—"

"Whoa whoa whoa!"

Out of control, Robbie rolled past him, wings tucked tightly, and slid under Iþrottaalfurinn's arm. Then Robbie was out, clamping his hands over his eyes as he tumbled through the air, the sick sensation of falling twisting his stomach up in knots.

"—too high too high too high too high—"

He hit something, which sent him into a spin, and he flared his wings out of instinct. His broken wing shuddered and refused to spread out completely, throwing him sideways. Something orange blurred by him, and then something heavy struck his side and grabbed his waist.

"Hold on!" Sportacus called out. "Don't let go!"

Robbie didn't try to say he wasn't holding on at all and couldn't make himself look at the ground coming far too fast. Sportacus adjusted his grip, holding himself flush against Robbie's side.

"It hit my backpack," Sportacus yelled over the wind. "Can you fly?"

"I can fall!" Robbie cried behind his hands.

"I can use one wing," Sportacus said. "If you spread out your wing a little more—"

"I can't! I can't fly! Not this high! We're going to crash and die—"

"No we're not." Sportacus squeezed once and touched his good wing. "Put it out a little more and I can stabilize us, and we'll land safely."

Not waiting for an answer, Sportacus reached behind Robbie's shoulder and pressed the heel of his palm down on the joint, forcing the wing to completely extend. As they began to tilt wildly, Sportacus commanded his backpack to fly. Sparks burst from the mechanisms that put out one metallic wing, pouring smoke from its side, but they fell slower without flipping over.

"Almost...almost..." Sportacus forced his body flat, slowing their descent further. "I think...I think I can put us down in the park..."

Robbie didn't answer, trying to force himself not to throw up. That Sportacus had made his good wing spread out worsened the ache in his side. The spinning and the fall and the crumpled wing all made him want to curl up and simply hit the ground as hard as gravity wanted them to.

Instead they came down slow enough that Sportacus could angle their fall and put them in a snow drift, cushioning their landing even more.

Robbie lay still for several seconds, gasping, digging his fingers into the earth to make sure the ground was actually there. He felt Sportacus stand up and move, heard him say something that he couldn't quite make out, but all all Robbie could do was drag his wings close to his back. Bones in his broken wing straightened, still healing, and he coughed as he pushed himself to all fours, painfully climbing to his feet.

"—see it land?" Sportacus asked. "I don't see where it fell."

"How'd you lose something on fire?" Robbie said, stumbling toward the wall. He smacked both hands on it, leaning his whole weight as he sagged. "Better yet, how did you ever think that was a good idea?"

"What, setting it on fire?" Sportacus asked. He jumped up on the wall for a better view, holding up a normal flare for light. "I didn't do that. Wasn't that you?"

"I mean throwing that thing out of the ship and us with it." Robbie ran his hand across his face, rubbing away the snow. "Were you trying to fall out?"

"I couldn't let it stay on the ship with Stephanie." Sportacus winced and put his hand against his calf. He grimaced when he found blood on his fingertips. "Must've clipped something in the fall."

"Lucky you're not smashed flat."

Still leaning against the wall, Robbie took small steps, head down, eyes shut. Another bone in his wing shifted into place, and he winced and brought his wing up. At least the broken shards were no longer digging into his skin. Just a little longer now and the wing would be healed—though it would probably ache for the rest of the week.

"Where are you going?" Sportacus asked, coming up after him. "You're hurt. You should come back to the ship—"

"Up there?" Robbie growled. "Up too high with sluagh with way too many teeth and that muscle bound muscle head—"

"Your wing is still dragging."

"I'm not—"

Robbie stumbled and half-tumbled into the snow. Cursing under his breath, he took the hand Sportacus offered and stood up, leaning on the elf. Both of them glanced at what he'd tripped over.

"Think I found your monster," Robbie muttered.

"...I think so, too."

Without wings, the fall had not been as kind to the creature. Its limbs lay crumpled beneath it, its head cracked open on the arm of the park bench. Sportacus followed the line of the snow around it.

"I think it landed on the wall," Sportacus said. "It must've died when it hit."

"Took out part of the bench," Robbie said, kicking it out of the way despite Sportacus' protests. "Oh...dammit. That's not all it took out."

Sportacus looked down. The bottom of the bench had broken inward, and just beneath that, a round manhole cover had smashed down into the ground, half-concealed by crushed cement.

"Won't be using that tube," Robbie sighed, and he looked down the street with a sigh. "Gonna be a long walk."

"What? No." Sportacus grasped his arms, making Robbie face him. "No. You can't. You're hurt and it's freezing."

"I can walk just fine," Robbie said. He pretended not to notice how the wall was still taking most of his weight and that it was only Sportacus holding him that kept him steady.

"Please." Sportacus sighed, recognizing that stubborn look. "Fine. Then let me walk you home. There could be other—what did you call it? Sluagh?"

"Monsters," Robbie said firmly. "And they stay away from my light. I'll be fine. I just want to go home, eat a whole cake and curl up in front of the tv. You should try it sometime. No adventures, no sporting around. No giant monsters trying to eat you."

A flash of light and a heavy whuff came from behind them as a hot air balloon landed in the snow. Iþrottaalfurinn jumped out of the basket, plowing through the snow to look over his brother. The balloon's burners reflected orange flames in the goggles he'd lowered into place.

"Thank God," Iþrottaalfurinn said, brushing snow off of Sportacus. "Don't ever do that again, you crazy little—I thought for sure I was an only child again. And where's the—"

He stopped, now noticing the dead thing at their feet. A solid kick to its side reassured him that it was dead, and he knelt and lifted the claws, the broken head.

"Now we can finally get a good look at it," he said, then grimaced as blood and red matter spilled out of its skull. "What's left of it. Maybe we can tell what it is."

"Robbie called it a sluagh," Sportacus said, not noticing how Robbie shook his head swiftly.

"...he did, did he?"

Iþrottaalfurinn examined its claws and fangs a moment more, then slowly came up again and fixed his look on Robbie.

"How'd you know what it was?"

Squirming in Sportacus' hands, Robbie leaned back, waving his hands once.

"I didn't know," Robbie said, glancing from Iþrottaalfurinn to Sportacus, from Sportacus to Iþrottaalfurinn. "I don't know. I don't know what it is—it's just it kind of looks like a monster and monsters are usually sharp and pointy and like eating people—"

"Monsters like that are hard to tell from one another," Iþrottaalfurinn said, taking a step toward him. "You called it a sluagh."

"Now I just took a very long fall..." Robbie said, shrugging away from Sportacus. "And it's been a really long night..."

"You are hiding something—" Iþrottaalfurinn started.

"And it's been really lovely but not really and I'm off good night!"

"—you aren't going anywhere!"

Robbie cringed, ducking low, arms up like a shield, and at first Sportacus thought that would be it. Robbie would freeze, Iþrottaalfurinn would loom over him and demand answers, and the ugly affair would be over in a moment. Sportacus turned his head, not wanting to see his brother like this even if it was necessary.

So Sportacus barely spotted the puff of purple smoke as Robbie vanished.

Startling back, Sportacus and Iþrottaalfurinn shared a look, then moved as they heard another puff. Sportacus sprang up over the bench and onto the wall, spotting Robbie running across park. Iþrottaalfurinn leaped over the wall in a single bound, diving in a tackle that just missed the fairy as he vanished again. Iþrottaalfurinn stumbled and went headfirst into the snow.

Robbie appeared on the other side of the wall next to Sportacus, dropping down to his knees as he put his hands on the edge of his wing. The bones began to glow under the skin.

At first Sportacus wondered why Robbie hadn't healed himself earlier. Then he heard Robbie hiss and saw him wince, gritting his teeth as he lowered his head. The smell of burning flesh staggered Sportacus back.

"Where'd you go?" Iþrottaalfurinn yelled, smacking the snow as if Robbie was underneath. With a flourish, he swung his hand as hard as he could.

Snow blasted up out of the park, pushed clear from his magic. It landed like an avalanche over the wall, and Sportacus bent over Robbie, his hand up to safely split the wave of snow.

"Like I'm gonna answer," Robbie muttered, giving his wing a final blast of magic. There was a loud crack as the last bone shards snapped into place, splashing his hand with blood that steamed in the cold air.

"Wait—" Sportacus put his hand on Robbie's shoulder, then stood between him and his brother as Iþrottaalfurinn leaped on top of the wall, quickly spotting the fairy beside him. "Wait—stop this—"

"Don't let him get away!" Iþrottaalfurinn said, springing down toward them.

Robbie vanished again, and Iþrottaalfurinn rolled and came back to his feet, shaking the snow from his shoulders.

"Slippery little thing," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I can see why he was so much trouble before."

"Iþrott!" Sportacus grabbed his brother, giving him a shake. "Stop it! You're scaring him—he'd stay if you stopped chasing him—"

"Like he stayed put for Number 9?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked. "He knew it's a sluagh. He knows more than he's letting on. Now help me catch him before he can go warn his unseelie partners."

A snowball struck Iþrottaalfurinn's face. There was a flash of purple streaks in the snow, and Iþrottaalfurinn bent and scraped the snow off.

"Nice try," he muttered. "I don't always wear the goggles down."

Sportacus took a step back. There was no telling what spell had been in that snowball, but it had been aimed at his brother's eyes. When Iþrottaalfurinn stood, a violet glimmer ran across the surface of the goggles, and the steel rivets in the side began to glow.

Before Iþrottaalfurinn could move, Sportacus had grabbed the goggles off of his face and thrown them onto the ground. There was a flash of sparks and a pop, and then smoke from the melted eye pieces.

"Nasty little spell," Iþrottaalfurinn said, whistling low. Louder, he added a taunt to the empty air. "Getting vicious, eh?"

On the other side of the park, Robbie crouched low beneath the wall, covering his mouth so that his breath didn't mist. He was lucky that he'd healed his wing, but he didn't think it could bear his weight yet, settling instead for simply folding them up behind his back and making them vanish. He was running out of ready tricks to throw. He'd been able to summon back the energy from the trap, dredging it out of the earth, but he'd cast several strong spells already—the lights, two healing spells, dispelling his trap—and he didn't have any of his machines nearby.

Wait.

Biting his lip, he remembered why he'd even come out that night.

Figures, he thought. I made it for an elf, so I'll use it on an elf.

He dug into the snow, running his hand along the ground. The ice stung his fingers numb, but he couldn't spend time or effort in casting the spell to summon up summer for himself. His hand closed around one of the kid's baseballs, and he flung it as hard as he could down the street. Its bouncing sounded like someone running awkwardly over the pavement, and he heard the two elves dart off in that direction.

Quickly, quickly—they wouldn't take long before they turned back. Robbie crept over the snow, then came around the wall and ran through the park. Iþrottaalfurinn had cleared the snow so he barely made any sound as he ran back toward Stephanie's house. The lights were all on, showing him the broken window and the glass lying like diamonds on ice.

"There he is!"

Robbie threw himself forward, landing just before the fence. Over his head, he heard the thin whips of something flying through the air, then the light splashes of magic dissipating. Elfshot, probably, narrowly missing him.

Footsteps came up fast behind him—he crawled up and over the fence, grabbed the edge of the trap still under the window—Iþrottaalfurinn yelled something that blurred with Robbie's fear as he came up on him—

Robbie rolled and hurled the trap with all his strength at Iþrottaalfurinn. There was a metallic rattle and the elf's yell, a shriek of steel—

Robbie froze.

Iþrottaalfurinn had caught the trap in both hands, holding the jaws open. With one foot braced on the fence, Iþrottaalfurinn leaned back, holding the trap at arm's length as he struggled to keep it open. The shock was gone but the trap still knew it was for, straining to clamp down on Iþrottaalfurinn's face.

Number 9 had never done that.

There was no time left—no more tricks—if he could get home, back to his lair, there he had tools and spells and wards. He ducked by Iþrottaalfurinn, wincing at his angry shout, diving through the fresh snow drifts. He couldn't outrun them, not the whole way, but if he made it to the mailbox, there was another tunnel there.

He yelped as a blue blur passed by him, somersaulted overhead and landed in front of him. The heroic pose was the same, but Sportacus looked much angrier than he usually did. The elf said something that Robbie didn't hear as he transformed, flaring out his wings—

Something in his wing tore. White hot fire lanced through his arm and shoulder, and as he toppled forward, he saw the elf's anger change to wide eyes and then nothing at all.

 


	9. Battle Damage

Sportacus stumbled backward, staggered under the sudden weight of Robbie sagging in his arms. As he braced himself and found his balance, he maneuvered the other man to one side, easing him down on the ground without dropping him. As he knelt, sinking into the snow, he noticed the wings spread awkwardly behind him, how one dangled from its joint as if it had been snapped clean. Sharp bone jutted from the skin so that blood spread out in a widening circle.

"Oh no." Sportacus reached into his pack and withdrew packed gauze, which he pressed gently to the wound. Robbie gave a faint moan in response. "Oh no, no—don't wake up, better if you don't wake up to feel this, I think."

There was a heavy clang from the house, and then his brother pushed through the snow and knelt down next to him. Iþrottaalfurinn's hand hovered over the wound, and then he looked up at Sportacus with wide eyes.

"Don't you think that was a bit much?" Iþrottaalfurinn scolded. "You could have gotten him to surrender without hurting him like that."

"I didn't do this!" Sportacus said. "He started to change, and then this happened."

"Huh." Iþrottaalfurinn shook his head once. "Foolish fae. A wing injury is nothing to take lightly. But at least we can take him up to your ship and keep him there until he tells us exactly what he knows."

"That's all you care about while his wing is...?" Sportacus pressed down another pack of gauze, discarding the bloodied one. "Do you have anything on your balloon that can help?"

"I have a couple first aid supplies," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "But the best thing now is just getting him out of the cold. Do you want to carry him or—?"

Light spilled over the park as a door opened, falling neatly over the two elves. They both looked up toward Stephanie's house as the mayor spotted them and came running.

"Sportacus, Sportacus! Have you seen Stephanie?" Mayor Meanswell brought a flashlight that cast a broad beam around the park and neighborhood. "I woke up and found the windows smashed, and Stephanie's nowhere inside."

"She's safe," Sportacus said, holding one hand placatingly. Only when the mayor's eyes widened did Sportacus remember the blood and put his hand back down. "She's up on my airship, sir, safe and sound."

"What's she doing up there?" the mayor asked. "I didn't even hear anything. I only woke up because it was so cold."

"Mayor Meanswell," Iþrottaalfurinn said, standing straight. "I am Iþrottaalfurinn, Number 8. There was an attack on your house tonight, but the monster is dead and Stephanie was brought on board my brother's airship during the rescue. We need to get back up there immediately to make sure she's all right."

"Oh!" The mayor looked down at Sportacus, who had gently folded Robbie's wing and used a belt to immobilize it against his back. "Did the monster do that?"

"It's...complicated," Sportacus said, giving his brother a look. "But he kept Stephanie safe until we could arrive."

"Still," Iþrottaalfurinn said, and he ignored his brother's glare. "He knows something that he hasn't told us, so we'll be taking him with us for questioning."

"'Taking him'?" the mayor echoed. "Where?"

"North to our kin," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "We have a facility for villains there."

"Ithrot," Sportacus breathed. "You..."

"For villains?" Mayor Meanswell gasped. "You mean a prison?"

"It's for the best," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I just can't take the chance that he knows something that could put the town at risk."

The mayor looked from Sportacus to Robbie, then to Iþrottaalfurinn. Then up at the lights of the airship floating overhead. He put his head down to think for a moment, then took a deep breath and held himself straight.

"I am afraid I cannot allow that," he said.

Iþrottaalfurinn blinked. "Sir...?"

"In my capacity as the mayor of Lazytown, I must formally protest this action and demand that Robbie Rotten remain here, free and clear."

Both elves stared at the mayor with wide eyes. Then a smile started to slowly spread over Sportacus' face, but he lowered his head before his brother could notice.

"Sir," Iþrottaalfurinn started. "Robbie Rotten is ranked as the tenth villain in the whole world. Even...even if this isn't one of his schemes—"

"While I admit that he's less than a stellar role model," the mayor said, "the fact remains that he is an important citizen in Lazytown. We simply cannot function without him."

Iþrottaalfurinn huffed, folding his arms. "If this is a matter of jurisdiction, I'm sure the council—"

"It isn't a matter of jurisdiction," the mayor said. "But even the last numbered hero didn't take Robbie away."

"The last hero," Iþrottaalfurinn said, his patience starting to wear thin, "was driven out. Violently."

"Oh dear." The mayor tutted and shook his head. "I'm sure it won't come to that. Robbie might be dangerous, but he's always followed the rules."

Now Iþrottaalfurinn narrowed his eyes.

"The 'rules'?"

"All fair folk have to follow the rules, don't you?"

Both of them stared. The mayor didn't seem any sharper or more aware than the days before, but from the way he spoke, he knew far more than he let on. Perhaps more than either of them knew.

"Sir," Iþrottaalfurinn started again. "Do you know that Robbie is a...?"

"A fae," the mayor said. "But more specifically, he is our radie."

Iþrottaalfurinn took a long breath, gathering his thoughts. That was not a term he heard often, let alone from a human. He glanced at Robbie, who had curled up in Sportacus' arm and started to shiver. Raising an eyebrow, he looked back at the mayor.

"You're certain about this?" he asked. "You'd claim a villain for your town radie?"

"It was decided long before my time," the mayor said.

Sportacus finished binding the wing down in a splint, then turned Robbie and hauled him up out of the snow. As he cradled him in his arms, Sportacus gave the mayor a decisive nod.

"You got it," he said, ignoring his brother's burgeoning argument. "We'll take him up for medical care and bring him back, safe and sound. And Stephanie, too. She'll probably be very happy to see you."

He was turning around, about to take Robbie to his brother's balloon, when the mayor called him back.

"Um..."

The mayor glanced at his house, with the curtains blowing in the shattered windows, the disturbed snow that led in a mass of footprints and dragged lines toward the park. With a grimace, he looked up at Sportacus.

"Is Stephanie really safe in the house?" he asked. "Or would it be better if she were...up there?"

Sportacus and Iþrottaalfurinn shared a look. Neither wanted to mention the fight that had just happened in the ship, but at the same time, there was no way of knowing if the danger was past. The creature had hitched a ride, but the homes on the ground were simply more vulnerable. And the boundary of her home was broken. Stephanie's house could go cold and dark again in a moment.

"We can't tell for sure," Iþrottaalfurinn said finally, "if the monster that died is the only one. Or if it left any lingering effects on the town. That is part of why I want to question Robbie."

"...then, if I may ask," the mayor said, "would it be all right if Stephanie stay with you? At least until I have the house repaired and things have calmed down? I can arrange to stay with Ms. Busybody, but I don't think Stephanie would be happy there."

Iþrottaalfurinn gave a long sigh, but he nodded and gave a faint hand wave at the damage.

"Considering...everything, that would probably be for the best. We'll let her know you're working hard to fix the house and that you're all right."

After the mayor gave his thanks and retreated back to his house, already calling Officer Obtuse, Iþrottaalfurinn groaned, taking off his cap and running a hand through his hair.

"A villain like him is the town radie?" He shot a glare at his brother. "And how long have you known this?"

"Not a clue," Sportacus said with a grin. "Never would have guessed. He's certainly never acted like a local guardian spirit."

"That's so old fashioned!" Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Radie...it just isn't done anymore. A fae binding himself to one place? They're too flighty for that."

Iþrottaalfurinn sighed and waved his brother toward the balloon, helping him climb in with Robbie in tow. He lowered the shutters against the wind and cold, and as he let out the flame that brought the balloon up into the air, the basket grew warm enough that Sportacus felt Robbie begin to relax even in his sleep.

"Maybe when he did it," Sportacus said, "it was still in fashion. Besides, maybe Lazytown has more threats than we realize."

"Robbie Rotten is dangerous," Iþrottaalfurinn said firmly. "It's probably a case of a villain using that status to stay safe from prosecution."

"I'll admit, he can be dangerous," Sportacus said.

"He drove out a numbered elf," Iþrottaalfurinn said.

"You know," Sportacus said, "you've never told me what happened with that."

The question was quietly implied, but Iþrottaalfurinn squared his shoulders and refused to meet his brother's eyes.

"I told you," he said. "Your fae friend pushed out Number 9 and I went in to back him up."

"Then why is Robbie still here? And Number 9 didn't stay in Lazytown?" Sportacus tilted his head. "Come to think of it, if he left, why didn't you take over his post afterward? If Lazytown still needed a hero?"

Iþrottaalfurinn didn't answer immediately, guiding the balloon higher on the right course so that they didn't hit the airship head-on. When he lowered the shutters once more, the wind buffeted them back so that they were occupied with managing Robbie on board without falling again.

A pink blur popped up from the captain's seat.

"Are you okay?" Stephanie called out, curling her fingers over the top of the seat. "I held the ship as steady as I could."

"You did a great job," Iþrottaalfurinn said, helping his brother in and then sealing the door. Without the wind blowing in, the zeppelin was as warm and cozy as any home. "The ship didn't drift at all."

She flashed a bright smile, far from the fear she'd shown before. Sportacus didn't mention that the ship would immediately go to autopilot or that it had swayed gently to the side to allow the balloon to dock. The confidence boost had her back on her feet and speaking clearly.

When she came up out of the chair, however, his smile faded. She clamped one hand over her shoulder and walked with a limp. In her free hand, she clutched the blossom of light to her chest.

"Airship," he said, "recycle bed."

Iþrottaalfurinn turned to him with wide eyes. "You have to be kidding..."

There was a metallic rattling and a whumpf of air as the crumpled bed withdrew into the wall and a new slat of steel slid out, locking into place. The thin mattress molded to the top didn't look warm or comfortable, but as another mechanism turned behind the wall, a clean blanket puffed out and fell over the bed.

"Entirely too spoiled," Iþrottaalfurinn muttered.

He motioned for Stephanie to take the bed Robbie had used before, closer to the captain's seat. She studied it warily, then nodded once and hopped up. It didn't have any blood and it wasn't the one that the monster had broken. She didn't think she could have used the recycled bed and she was glad he hadn't expected it of her.

"Don't be so jealous," Sportacus said, setting Robbie on the new bed. "You'll be sleeping on one of these, too."

"I'll be sleeping in my gondola, thank you."

Stephanie halted, looking up at them with wide eyes.

"It isn't safe in here?" she whispered.

"It's safe now," Sportacus said quickly. He sat beside her, gingerly pulling the collar of her shirt to one side to better see the rising bruise, asking the ship for an ice pack and pain killers. "Ah. I should have checked after you said you were hit there. Does it it hurt anywhere else?"

"No," she said. "Just my knee from where I landed on the ground, but it doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"We'll add some ice just in case," he said. "Since your uncle wants you to stay here with us for a little while."

"How come?"

"Broken windows," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "And he didn't think you'd want to stay with someone called Ms. Busybody."

From Stephanie's grimace and shaking head, she agreed.

As he fussed over her, making sure she had a hot bowl of chicken soup and that the blanket was warm enough, he gently unclasped her hand from around the light. Several petals remained, so he lifted it up above the bed, giving her a warm glow that covered the whole bed.

"This will keep you safe for sure," he said. "But that thing will never come to hurt anyone ever again."

"Did you kill it?" she asked.

"It died in the fall," he said.

"It hit the wall when it landed," Iþrottaalfurinn added. "Head opened and everything. It was..."

He noticed the warning glare that his brother shot him and the way Stephanie's eyes had widened to saucers. He swallowed once and half-shrugged.

"It was messy," he finished, not going into more detail. "But at least we know for sure it's dead."

"That's good," she said. "How come Robbie's so hurt, though? Was it that bad before?"

"His wing tore," Iþrottaalfurinn said before Sportacus could say anything. "It'll be fine, but it'll take awhile to heal. Wings are fragile. Much more fragile than brave little girls."

She smiled despite herself, finishing the soup and laying down as Sportacus freshened her ice packs. He dimmed the lights but didn't stop the fairy light, letting her watch it spin overhead.

"We'll be right on the other side of the curtain," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Just call if you need anything."

"Are you going to sleep?" she asked.

He pretended not to notice how she glanced at the rear hatch where the monster had entered or how she twisted the blanket in her fingers.

"Not at all," he said. "We'll tend to Robbie, then one of us will stay awake to watch the town. When he gets tired, we'll switch."

She bit her lip, thinking about that, then nodded. That was good enough.

"Just make sure you keep watching the light floating above you," Iþrottaalfurinn added. "You've had a rough night, and that will make sure the bad magic can't give you nightmares. You need good sleep."

"...okay." She lay back, watching the light turn, and didn't protest as he pulled the curtain between her and the other bed.

Sportacus had turned Robbie on his front, his long arms dangling over the sides. He'd removed the hasty field splint and begun opening the wing, revealing a jagged tear in the membrane from the joint along the middle bone. He leaned over the other man, examining the prominent veins and the angry red edges of the wound.

"You're good with kids," Sportacus whispered. "Even if you want to give her nightmares."

"She just got attacked by a sluagh," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Besides, she managed the ship all by herself. She's a tough little thing. Kids can handle more than you think."

Sportacus made a noncommittal sound and went back to tending the wound, cleaning it of dirty ice and blood.

"Not so good with fairies, though," he said.

Iþrottaalfurinn gave a half-shrug. "You can't deny he knows something."

"You scared him," Sportacus said. "He wouldn't have tried to run if you hadn't threatened him."

Heaving a sigh, Iþrottaalfurinn put his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I hope you're right, little brother. I hope he gets better and helps us and that he's...changed. Because the fairy that drove out Number 9 was all anger and pointy ends."

"He wasn't like that with me," Sportacus said. "Well, not that much, anyway. And he got better, too. He hides it, but I know he loves playing games with the children."

"Tricking the children, more like." Iþrottaalfurinn shook his head. "Remember, radie or not, he's a fae. They're tricky. Just because he's protecting this place doesn't mean he'll do it in a way we agree with."

"And getting rid of Number 9," Sportacus said. "Was that also protecting this place?"

Iþrottaalfurinn groaned. "Ugh. You're too perceptive by half. Look, if we have time later, I'll tell you what happened. It's not pretty, but...well. We'll probably have time to kill. I can't ask him anything until he wakes up, and he won't be waking until that wing is a little better."

Sportacus closed the wing again, adding a splint and binding the joint so that if Robbie moved too much, his wing wouldn't fall open and tear even further. As Sportacus finished bandaging it up, Robbie groaned and clutched at the side of the bed, holding the pillow close.

Both elves tensed, but when Robbie stilled again, his breathing coming soft and steady, they both relaxed.

"Is there anything we can do?" Sportacus asked. He brought the blanket up over Robbie's back, slipping it under his wings so his bare skin didn't suffer so much from the chill.

"Fae and elf magic don't mix so much," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Relax. He'll heal up fast, and hopefully he'll be a bit more cooperative when he does."

"Or else what?" Sportacus asked too casually. "Ithrott, I won't let him be hurt. He's already suffered too much."

"Because he ran," Iþrottaalfurinn said, but he shrugged and waved his brother's concern away. "I'm not going to attack him. I just want him to tell us what he knows about sluagh in Lazytown. If he's to blame in any way, then the council will decide what to do. I wouldn't be surprised if they send word back soon anyway."

"Now," Iþrottaalfurinn said, heading to the captain's chair. "I'm going to keep an eye on the town. Get some sleep. I'll wake you up in a few hours."

"Wonderful."

Sportacus ran his hand down his face, glaring at the clock. Nearly eleven. He hadn't gone to bed so late in ages. If he had to wake up in just a few hours, then he had to get to sleep as soon as possible if he was going to be worth anything.

He leaned down, whispering so his brother didn't hear.

"I know you're asleep, and you probably won't hear me, but...don't worry. I won't let anything else bad happen." He glanced aside, watching his brother plop down in the chair and rest his feet on the console. "I know Ithrott can be really intimidating, but he means well in his own way."

Sportacus readjusted the blanket one more time.

"Ship, lights to low."

He sighed, lowering his head, then slowly climbed back to his feet and went to his own bed, burrowing under the blanket and knowing he would have to wake up far too soon. He kicked off his shoes, letting them fall to the floor, and hoped his brother would stay on guard for a long time.

Through half-closed eyes, Robbie watched Sportacus sleep. He listened to Iþrottaalfurinn shifting slightly, heard Stephanie toss once. His wing felt like it was on fire, but there was nothing he could do but lie and let it rest and heal. There was no poison, no dark magic to push out of himself. His own magic had caused the wound and he'd simply have to wait it out and remember never to fly on an injured wing.

What Sportacus had said...Robbie didn't trust. Couldn't trust. Heroes were heroes who wanted to lock up the villains, and Iþrottaalfurinn was far, far worse. Not as bad as Number 9, maybe, but still no good. He would bide his time, heal, and wait for a chance to somehow escape.

* * *

_To the Watch,_

_This is a set of magic runes found on a spring trap in Lazytown. Number 10 did his best to recreate them after they vanished. Does anyone know where the runes come from or what it says?_

_Sincerely,_

_Number 8_

The paper airplane had sailed in soggy and tearing from the snow storm, but it landed safely on the desk of the elves' watch desk, a port on the northern coast just before the ocean turned to icy slush. Nearly every elf was fast asleep, but the elf on watch shivered in his cold office and wished again that he could close the window. But letters could come at any time, and this was still punishment duty, no matter what they called it.

A punishment duty of almost forty years.

He turned the lantern to be see the letter, reading and rereading it until he memorized it. So Iþrottaalfurinn was having trouble in Lazytown. The name brought a sour taste to his mouth. A spring trap? Now that sounded familiar.

If he had to guess, he knew who was behind the traps. Those runes? Obviously fae, dark fae. How could Iþrottaalfurinn not realize this? He'd always known the older elf to be incompetent. This just proved it. And they had missed one of the world's greatest villains living in their midst. Robbie Rotten was behind every other scheme in Lazytown. Why not this one? And using the old spring traps he'd created ages ago? The fairy's guilt was clear.

He crumpled the letter in his fist and shoved it in his pocket.

The children in Lazytown—no, everyone there was in danger. He would have to bide his time, wait for an opportunity to borrow a hot air balloon. There were several older ones in the repair bay—he could grab one when the builder elves went off at night, sail to Lazytown, do what had to be done, and come back with the fairy and the cheerful recommendations of Number 8 and Number 10.

And then he'd be properly recognized as Number 9 again.


	10. Uneasy Peace

The moon brought cold, pale light that did little to warm the ship. Sportacus woke slowly, turning and pushing off the blanket. As he sat up, leaning forward with his head in his hands, his sides and arms began to ache, followed by twinges in his legs. The world spun slowly in a way that had nothing to do with the movement of his ship.

"There's ginger tea in the thermos," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Should still be hot."

"Ugh." Sportacus reached down and found thermos on the floor, taking a long drink. Pure spice hit the back of his throat, making him cough. "Do you always make it that strong?"

"When it's to cut the pain, yes."

"Thanks." Sportacus finished it in another draught, putting it aside so he could stand and begin stretching away the soreness. "How'd you know?"

"That was your first real fight with a killer," Iþrottaalfurinn sat straight, looking back from the captain's chair. "I remember what it was like, all the adrenaline hitting you. If you're not used to fighting, you wake up feeling like you walked in front of a train."

"Maybe not that bad," Sportacus said, but he winced as a stretch pulled a knotted muscle. "Still, pretty bad. What time is it?"

"Couple hours before sunrise," Iþrottaalfurinn said.

"I thought you were going to wake me."

"You looked like you could use the rest. Besides, I slept some of the flight here. Trust me, I'm good for another go."

After a moment, Sportacus decided that his brother was right. Iþrottaalfurinn had kept steady watch over all of them. Sportacus glanced at Stephanie, now curled more comfortably with her pillow. Iþrottaalfurinn's trick to keep the nightmares away looked like it had worked. On the other side, Robbie still lay fast asleep, his good wing nestled close to his back.

"I appreciate it," Sportacus said. "I don't normally go to sleep that late."

"Still keeping a baby's hours, huh?" Iþrottaalfurinn grinned. "Just wait. Some day you'll be assigned Mayhem town, and you'll have to go for two, three days in a row."

"...is Mayhem town really that bad?"

"It's..." Iþrottaalfurinn half-shrugged. "Mayhem town has good people in it, a lot of good people. It's much bigger than Lazytown. But more people attracts more problems, and not just criminals."

"Oh?"

"I handled a couple goblin infestations, a kelpie in the lake—that one was nasty. And then there was a rash of burglaries just as Bullytown had an awful breakout in their prison."

Finishing his tea, Sportacus came to lean on the edge of his workstation, looking over his shoulder through the viewscreen. Lazytown seemed to sleep under a pile of snow.

"So it's harder than taking care of a few kids," Sportacus chuckled.

"...not quite." Iþrottaalfurinn glanced up at him. "You've been in Lazytown, what, two years?"

"Three," Sportacus said. "Time flies."

"Three years," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Up against the tenth greatest villain in the world. You know, he didn't get that title by laying around doing nothing."

"He would disagree," Sportacus said. "He says he's the laziest person in town."

"Is he?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked.

"I wish. It felt like every week he hatched a new scheme to get rid of me somehow."

"And you managed to stay," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "And if you're not completely insane like I suspect you are, then you really have managed to be...well, as close to a friend as a villain can have, I suppose."

"I'm guessing Number 9 didn't manage that."

"Oh, good grief, Number 9." Iþrottaalfurinn heaved a loud sigh and leaned back in the chair, putting his feet up and ignoring Sportacus' pointed look at that. "Number 9...have you ever met him?"

"I don't think so. He left just as I was starting to train. I was still following you everywhere."

"Heh. Yeah, I remember that. Little blue duckling of a brother that almost followed me into the water closet."

"I didn't know that's what it was!" Sportacus said with the air of having uselessly explained it a dozen times. "And the council chambers are huge and I still can't find my way in there."

"You were so young," Iþrottaalfurinn smiled faintly. "I'm not surprised you didn't see him. Number 9...we called him Hopper. Very young at the time, too."

"Wait, 'Hopper'?" Sportacus laughed. "How'd he get that name?"

"You'll know if you ever meet him," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "His actual name is Idrettsutøver, but he hates it. So of course Robbie used it all the time."

"But why do you even know about that?" Sportacus asked.

"Hmm?" Iþrottaalfurinn said. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb. You haven't come to see me in three years, but you knew I was here. You knew Robbie was here." Sportacus waved vaguely at the bed behind the curtain. "You said he's tenth villain in the world. Why didn't you come to arrest him? Why did the council leave him alone?"

Iþrottaalfurinn reached up and scratched idly behind one pointed ear. "Well...there was an incident."

"An incident?"

"Yes. I don't know everything that happened. By that point, Hopper wasn't speaking coherently anymore, and Robbie was completely malevolent. I mean, I was able to contain the explosions in the candy shop and the bakery, but the park was a complete loss and the sewer systems were burning out of control."

Sportacus didn't answer for a moment, staring at his brother as he put all of that together.

"Wait...what?"

"It could've been worse," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I mean, say what you will about Robbie, but at least he doesn't have a penchant for throwing children down into the sewers, too."

"Ithrott..." Sportacus rolled his eyes, ending with a glare at his brother. "Please."

"Oh, fine." Iþrottaalfurinn waved one hand in exasperation. "You take all the fun out of teasing you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Hush, I was explaining," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Hopper...he isn't as patient as you are. And he's not as...hm. How to describe someone who is demanding, thinks he's always right and shuts down any conversation if it isn't going his way?"

"So like a certain big brother," Sportacus said.

"Considering I have to deal with you, I have the patience of a saint," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I suppose if you imagine me a couple centuries younger with no coffee, no fish and no sleep for a week and a half, you'd come close."

"Ouch."

"He really isn't all that bad," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Honestly. He means well. He just doesn't know how to see things from someone else's point of view. He passed all his exams with flying colors, but the council didn't realize he was too much of a teenager."

"So...bossy and demanding and not willing to take no for an answer," Sportacus said. "I can see how that would upset Robbie."

"That's not the half of it," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "He tried to get rid of Robbie."

Sportacus fell silent. He knew how that felt. That was exactly what Robbie had tried to do to him, and Sportacus had taken three years to win Robbie over. The lingering distrust and anger spoke to just how intense the clash had been.

"How?" he asked.

"Don't know," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Robbie wouldn't say anything except to warn me off. And Hopper...he yelled at me for not helping him fight Robbie, and then his balloon popped and he was shooting back home, out of control. The council didn't send him out again, and the town didn't ask for another hero."

Sportacus frowned. That left a lot of questions unanswered. Why did they fight? How had they started? What had Hopper done to make Robbie so mad, and to make the town so mad that they were happy to see him go? And fires at the bakery and candy shop?

"Did Hopper try to burn the candy shop down?" he asked.

"I think it was crossfire," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Or retaliation. Robbie was using those traps and fairy circles, canons and...I'm not sure, but I think he even used explosive leylines. Hopper was enraged, but then so was Robbie. Either one of them could have done it."

Sportacus looked at his brother with wide eyes.

"He's never done anything like that to me," he breathed.

Although...Robbie had. If he thought about it, Robbie had come close to killing him a few times. Or locking him away. Burying him underground. He had nearly shot Sportacus across the sky and would have wished him out of existence.

"I know that look," Iþrottaalfurinn chuckled without humor. "He's tried, hasn't he?"

"He doesn't anymore," Sportacus said. "After he got used to me."

"After what? Three years?" Iþrottaalfurinn shook his head. "Don't forget he's dangerous. He managed to send Hopper packing somehow."

"And the council didn't say anything?" Sportacus asked. "Nothing about Robbie?"

"They...well. It's part of why I was there. I was going to recall Hopper and 'subdue' the dangerous local fae. But when I arrived, Hopper was...there was no reasoning with him. He was just as likely to turn on me as on Robbie. So when I managed to get that fool elf on his balloon, Robbie managed to make it zoom off..."

Iþrottaalfurinn sliced his hand across the air like a flying balloon, a straight line without any curve.

"It didn't feel right to try to take Robbie in. And he was already making machines to try to put out the fires, and then the council called and said I was being promoted from ten to eight—"

"Wait, I remember that," Sportacus said. "I remember when you changed numbers. That was so...there was no ceremony or anything."

"Of course not," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "They had to recall a hero. I moved up because of it and we all got kind of shuffled. Not exactly something they wanted to celebrate."

No, and it painted a picture of the council that Sportacus wasn't sure he liked. Hiding the cashiering of a hero by switching around numbers? Then again, he hadn't heard of anyone else being given the number nine. Maybe Hopper was still Nine, and the council was biding their time before reintroducing him as if nothing had happened?

"But a destroyed bakery and candy shop!" Sportacus said. "How could a hero like that be able to keep his number?"

The answer didn't come from his brother but from the rear of the ship.

"Because, Sportaflop, other elves aren't all goody two shoes like you."

Sportacus came off of the workstation and was at Robbie's side in a flash. The fae had managed to push himself up into a sitting position, his legs dangling over the side of the bed, leaning against the wall of the airship. The lights above them were still off, but a part in the clouds left moonlight falling into the ship. Robbie lay half in and half out of shadow, leaning away from the light.

His broken wing flexed, tensing and relaxing as fragments of bone set themselves and aligned with tiny wet snaps, but the joint itself pulled at his shoulder, hanging canted and stretched to the floor.

Sportacus moved to his wing, thinking to raise it off the cold tile, to cushion it and begin to set it. Instead the wing flinched, and Robbie caught Sportacus with one long arm, holding him at length.

"Don't," Robbie said through clenched teeth. "Don't touch it."

"I wasn't going to..." Sportacus said, flinching at the heat in his voice. "I mean, at least to make you more comfortable...so it's not dragging..."

Robbie dug his fingers into the elf's arm. Sportacus glanced down, surprised by the strength there.

"It's...it's healing," Robbie said, staring at the bed and the sheet over his legs. He refused to look up, letting go of Sportacus, curling back in himself. "It just takes time."

"It looks painful," Sportacus said. When Robbie didn't answer, he pressed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to be hurt."

Robbie didn't answer, and he shied away from Sportacus' hand when he tried to touch the fae's shoulder. His wing tensed, trying to shield him and Robbie, with an effort, made the wing relax and lay flat again.

"Got tired of playing possum?"

Robbie still didn't answer, watching Iþrottaalfurinn as the elf came around the curtain, standing at the far corner of the bed. Iþrottaalfurinn crossed his arms, waiting, and the silence drew on.

Sportacus looked between them, from his brother to his friend and back again. Iþrottaalfurinn showed no sign of giving Robbie an out, no diplomatic overture, and Robbie looked like he might come up off the bed and scratch at the elf's eyes. His head lowered slightly, glowering through eyes narrowed to pinpricks, and he grasped the edge of the bed so that his knuckles turned white, watching Iþrottaalfurinn for the barest hint of an attack.

Sportacus huffed and crossed his arms as well, but his disapproving look focused on his brother. Iþrottaalfurinn noticed and looked back at Robbie, but he grimaced and gave a small, conciliatory nod.

"I'm not here to take you in," Iþrottaalfurinn said at last, accepting Robbie's snort without protest. "I just want to know what you know about the sluagh and the traps. They're the same ones you used against Hopper, aren't they?"

"If they were still really mine," Robbie said, narrowing his eyes, "they wouldn't have gone off except around some elf's face."

"Did you leave them lying around town?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked. "Or were they conveniently stolen?"

"I don't lock down everything I make," Robbie said. "Not when I might have to defend myself against another hero. And you know they're not my sigils. I don't know where they came from."

"You knew it was a sluagh," Iþrottaalfurinn said.

"Well, it was kind of obvious," Robbie said, "when it came roaring out of Pink Girl's window at me. I had a great look at its teeth, didn't I?"

"Is that what makes them different?" Sportacus asked, so curious that he didn't realize he'd said something oblivious until they both turned and stared at him. "...what?"

"Oh, little brother..." Iþrottaalfurinn asked, putting his hand to his forehead. "Do you remember anything about fairies? Anything at all?"

Sportacus narrowed his eyes. "'Fairy, from fata rasen, enchanted race, have many different types, each of them with many subtypes.' Yes, I remember my lessons. And I remember that old Mr. Fífl refused to teach more than that because it wasn't fair, he said, to categorize fairies by their types."

"...yeah, that sounds like him," Iþrottaalfurinn sighed. "It isn't that...well, I mean..."

"Whatever," Robbie said over him. "It's a sluagh, it's dead and it's not important anymore. And I want to go home, so if you'll kindly bring this oversized balloon down to a reasonable level, I'll see myself out, thank you."

"Did the sluagh take all your traps?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked. "Or do you have any of your old weapons left?"

Tired of the questions, Robbie snapped straight, baring his teeth.

"Let me go!"

Iþrottaalfurinn took a stomp forward. "How many?"

A change came over Robbie, who cringed back and turned so that his good arm faced Iþrottaalfurinn, hand upraised as if to take a hit. Sportacus would have thought that his brother was overbearing and was even opening his mouth to tell him to stop...when he saw Robbie's face.

The fae's demeanor had palpably changed, turning the air sharp. Robbie had pressed back into the darkness, out of the moonlight, and every inch of the fae was positioned to show fear, meek defense, wincing as if he was about to be hit...but his eyes were focused on Iþrottaalfurinn. Narrowed, watching, studying the elf's movements, and waiting.

No, Sportacus thought. Not waiting.

Biding his time. Patient. A pair of watchful eyes glittering in the dark.

Three years vanished, and in that moment, this was not Sportacus' slowly softening friend—this was a solitary fae, the villain ranked tenth in the whole world, now sizing up a new opponent—an opponent demanding to know if Robbie still had anything left that could hurt an elf.

Sportacus caught his breath and let his brother continue.

"Did you even put away your little trinkets of war?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked as if he hadn't noticed any change.

Robbie scoffed behind his hand. "Why bother? I'm the only villain in town—"

"I mean," Iþrottaalfurinn said, "we have to assume the sluagh have repurposed your old armaments for themselves. So how many do I have to find? Four? Five? There's the one with the mayor and we saw three in your lair."

Robbie tensed, glaring sideways at Iþrottaalfurinn.

"In my lair?" he hissed, growing angrier when Iþrottaalfurinn wouldn't respond.

Sportacus answered for his brother. "Yes. We thought you were inside and wanted to ask you...well. Things. And when we walked in—"

"What?" Robbie said, glaring in disbelief. "You just waltzed in without any problems?"

"Well, Ithrott got a bit of a shock," Sportacus said. "But yes, that was it."

Robbie looked at Iþrottaalfurinn, who gave him a growing smile and a knowing wag of his eyebrows. Robbie cursed under his breath and leaned back, then winced as that compressed his wing and shifted slightly, easing the pressure on the wound.

"Six," he muttered.

"So half a dozen," Iþrottaalfurinn said as if they were conversing casually. "With an unknown type of magic sitting on each one, powerful enough to put sigils in the air and keep a strong charge over the course of the day, trapping children quietly, so no one could notice. Until the sluagh was ready to come take them away."

Robbie opened his mouth to say that was obvious, that Iþrottaalfurinn was wasting their time, that congratulations, he could sum up the whole problem like a school teacher...and then his jaw clicked shut.

"Oh," Robbie whispered. "Hell."

"Yes," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Exactly."

"Wait, what?" Sportacus said, looking between them. "Did I miss something?"

"One sluagh isn't that strong," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Not enough to put that kind of power in a spell."

Sportacus winced as he followed their logic. "So there's either several more of them, or there is another very powerful sluagh."

Iþrottaalfurinn frowned again. "Or a single powerful fairy. Say, perhaps one of the top ten villains in the whole world."

Robbie's outline wavered.

Blinking, Sportacus tried to bring Robbie back into focus. It wasn't that Robbie had become blurry, but his edges seemed to flicker. Between moonlight and shadow, the line of the fairy's neck and shoulder felt thinner, smoother. His face, a little longer. His hands—

Sportacus stared. Robbie's hands were not human. The fingers were longer, slender, and ended in sharp points. As he watched, the claws appeared, vanished, shone in the moonlight, turned human in shadow.

This...this was what glamour meant, he thought. But which one was real?

Robbie spoke in a low, low voice.

"...I thought you weren't here to take me in."

Iþrottaalfurinn didn't take his gaze off of him. "Is there something to take you in for?"

The look in Robbie's eyes promised a thousand and one reasons. And perhaps one more if Iþrottaalfurinn didn't stop pushing.

"Broken wing or not," Robbie said, "do you really want to try?"

"...no," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I don't."

He gave no explanation. After another moment, Iþrottaalfurinn sighed and leaned against the wall, pushing his hand against his temple.

"It's been a very long night," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I just want to know if you had anything to do with these unseelie fae, were helping them along somehow, as one villain to another."

"Don't look at me," Robbie grumbled. "Spells that strong? I haven't had that kind of power in...in..."

His voice trailed off. He slouched, fascinated by the glowing panels on the floor. The fierce fire of his eyes faded, burned out by whatever memory now doused his anger.

"A long time," he finished softly.

Poisonous one moment, deflated the next. Fae were flighty things with mercurial moods anyway. Iþrottaalfurinn stood straighter, relaxing so that he didn't look so intimidating. If he wanted more information and cooperation, then perhaps he didn't need to antagonize Robbie, not when he was calming down again.

"The mayor mentioned you were the town's radie," he said.

Robbie's laugh was sharp. "Whatever. There's nothing to protect them from but me. Usually."

Iþrottaalfurinn didn't argue the point.

"Still, at one time, you settled down here," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Let yourself be called this town's protector. The mayor said so himself."

Robbie didn't answer. Iþrottaalfurinn lifted his head, satisfied that it was true.

"Would you be willing to help us search?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked.

"What?" Robbie said, barely glancing at him.

"Sluagh are sneaky and vicious," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I would rather that my brother and I face a nest of them with your magic at our side."

"Search for a nest of the awful things?" Robbie said with a bitter laugh. "That's at least four or five of them. With enough power to do all of..."

He waved one hand for effect.

"That. Magic. Do you even know where to start looking?"

Sportacus rocked back on his heels, a soft 'oh' coming from him.

"The woods," he said. "Or the school, maybe? I can't think of anywhere else something like that could hide."

Robbie blinked. "Huh. Well, there's the tunnels, but...those are old. Flooded or collapsed. It's probably the forest."

"Excellent," Iþrottaalfurinn said, clapping his hands with an air of finality. "Then we will go on the hunt...later today, after you have healed. That will give Stephanie time to rest and regain her strength before she goes home, and I can get a few hours in as well."

"Wait...what? Today...?" Robbie tried to get a word in, but Iþrottaalfurinn ran over him without listening to any of his protests about danger and closed spaces and fangs and claws. Robbie glanced at Sportacus, who could only wince and shrug apologetically.

"Sorry," Sportacus said as Iþrottaalfurinn abruptly left the conversation, taking the bed that his brother had relinquished. "He's a bit of a steam train when he gets going."

As the other elf curled up and promptly went to sleep, Robbie grumbled and retreated into himself, glaring at the curtain.

"All heroes are," he muttered. "Should've sent him packing, too."

Smiling ruefully, Sportacus came closer and leaned against the bed, arms still folded.

"I should thank you, then," he said. "For not sending me packing."

Robbie snorted. "Not for lack of trying."

"Really?" Sportacus asked. "Did you really try?"

Yes, obviously, a hundred times, Robbie thought. Three years worth of scheming and planning and inventing and magic and constant setbacks and close calls. Three years of almost killing Sportacus and endangering the townspeople just for a shot at taking out their hero. Three years of thinking about Sportacus so much that he'd started to dream about him. To talk with him. To find himself invited to parties. To dancing with him. As odd as it felt to be friendly with an elf, like wearing an ill fitting disguise. Companionship with Sportacus went completely against his nature, and yet...

"I tried," Robbie said, not looking at him. "I'm still trying."

Sportacus' smile broadened. "I'm glad you're still trying."

The hum of the airship filled the air, and the ship rocked gently with a gust outside, belying how strong the wind was at that altitude. Robbie shivered and pulled the blanket into his arms, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

"Does your wing hurt a lot?" Sportacus asked. "I think I have pain killers somewhere around here..."

"Human medicine doesn't work on me," Robbie said. "And neither does elf magic, either."

"I..." Sportacus twisted, looking over his ship for anything that might help and finding nothing. "Is there anything that can make it better?"

"Since I don't think you even have sugar for tea," Robbie muttered, "then no, I don't think so."

"Sugar?" Sportacus said. "Sugar would help?"

He didn't wait for Robbie to answer, instead vaulting into a flip that set him down on two panels, revealing a set of shelves filled with fruit, vegetables, small bottles of milk, jars of jams, and a bottle that almost glowed golden. He grabbed it, then came back in a cartwheel, landing nimbly where he had started.

"Would honey work?" he asked.

But instead of answering, Robbie was shaking slightly, shoulders rising and falling, and Sportacus realized that the fae was laughing at him. It was small, almost despite himself, but Robbie couldn't help turning his head just enough to see him, shaking his head slightly.

"Is everything a flipping production with you?" Robbie chuckled. "Do you ever hold still?"

Sportacus returned the smile, giving him a half shrug.

"I don't know. Elves are always going at full speed," he said. "That's just the way we are."

"Well, fae do not go at full speed," Robbie said, taking the offered honey. "That's just the way we are."

"Hm." Sportacus glanced back behind the curtain once, checking on Stephanie, then leaned against Robbie's bed again. "You managed to get rid of a hero. That sounds like going at full speed."

Robbie's smile faltered and he looked away again.

"What did you brother tell you about that?"

"Just that the bakery and candy shop caught fire," Sportacus said, forcing himself to sound like they were discussing nothing serious. "And then you sent him flying."

"...that's it?" Robbie asked.

"Well, he did mention exploding ley lines and circles and canons," Sportacus admitted.

Robbie chuckled again, but the laugh was low and unpleasant.

"I had more power then," he said. "Not much more, but...enough to get rid of that little pest."

"Was Number Nine very bad?" Sportacus asked. "Ithrott wouldn't tell me much about him."

"Heroes protecting their own," Robbie scoffed. "He was a total jerk—took the kids' candy, would play nothing but sports, kept trying to find my home..."

Sportacus stared. "...he couldn't find it?"

"Hey, if you haven't been kidnapped once, then it's easy to miss one little power station by the road," Robbie said.

Laughing at that, Sportacus shook his head. "He was trying to arrest you?"

Robbie looked at him in surprise. "No. He was trying to kill me."

Sportacus froze. His lips parted, but he couldn't think to form words.

"What?"

"Sure, it didn't start like that," Robbie said. "But by the time I'd tarred and feathered him twice, he was ready to pull my wings off. And yeah, I accidentally lit the bakery on fire, but by then, the candy shop was a complete loss."

"But...why?" Sportacus breathed. "That doesn't make any sense."

"...you're really patient, you know that?" Robbie said. "Good with the kids. And you never tried to tell people what to do. Never tried to force them how to think."

"Well, of course not," Sportacus said, confused by the sudden praise. "I wouldn't be much of a hero if I did that."

Robbie nodded once. After a moment, he unscrewed the top of the honey lid and chugged the whole contents of the jar. Sportacus felt his stomach twist just watching it, but he couldn't deny that Robbie perked up afterward, sitting straight and rolling his shoulder to ease his wing back into its socket.

"I'm glad I met you now," Robbie murmured. "When I'm not as strong as I used to be."

When Robbie might have been able to follow through on his threats? Sportacus didn't let himself think about that too deeply. What might a powerful Robbie Rotten have tried to do to a new hero on his first major assignment? Sportacus liked to think he could have handled himself, but he might not have become as fond of the fae as he was now.

"I'm glad, too," he replied. "Despite some of it all, I think of you as my best friend."

Robbie hid his smile by turning away.

"Robbie..." Sportacus started. "Your strength...what happened to—"

"Gonna try to sleep some more," Robbie said, suddenly flopping over on the bed, pulling the blanket up so fast that he didn't seem to touch the hem. "A good sleep will heal everything a lot faster, yes indeed."

Sportacus blinked. "Uh..."

"And then maybe you can bring this ship down to a sensible height," Robbie said as he closed his eyes. "It's ridiculously high in the air. You can't even see the ground."

That wasn't even slightly true, but before Sportacus could answer, Robbie was sleep. Or at least he seemed to be asleep, which was probably more accurate, but if Robbie didn't want to talk, then Sportacus would let him pretend.

Iþrottaalfurinn wouldn't wake up for a few hours, Stephanie still needed her rest, and Robbie would play dead until they decided to do something. So Sportacus plopped down in his captain's chair, directing the ship in slow circles around Lazytown, scanning for fairies and watching the growing snow storm with his own eyes, just in case.

* * *

 

Iþrottaalfurinn woke up first, yawning and rolling out of bed as if he'd spent the night fighting and worrying. Wordlessly making tea, he brought a second cup to his brother and leaned over the chair's backrest, keeping him company as the ship patrolled.

"Figured I might go around in my own balloon," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Two sets of eyes, you know."

"In this weather?" Sportacus shook his head. "You couldn't see past your own hand. Besides, you'd leave me alone with the world's tenth villain?"

"You seem to have that loose end neatly tied up," Iþrottaalfurinn said idly.

Sportacus glanced at him suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, what could it mean?" Iþrottaalfurinn said.

"I'm sure I have no idea," Sportacus said, turning back around and glaring at the storm as it finally died down to a gust, a breeze, then nothing more.

Through the viewscreen, Lazytown slowly woke up. Fresh smoke poured from the chimneys, a snow plow began to push through the streets, and the mayor stepped out of his house, heading to the mailbox.

A moment later, a mail tube shot toward the airship, heading unerringly to the right outside port. Sportacus cartwheeled across the floor, landing on the right panel and catching the tube in one hand. He tipped out a letter written in the mayor's handwriting.

"What is it?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked. "They need help with the thing's body?"

Sportacus' shoulders dropped. His eyes widened, and then squeezed tightly shut.

"...no."

Sportacus crumpled the letter, slamming it against the ship wall. Iþrottaalfurinn came up out of his seat, catching the letter as it slipped to the floor.

"I don't get it..." Sportacus said as his jaw tightened. "Why isn't this damn crystal working?"

Iþrottaalfurinn frowned. It wasn't like his little brother to curse. He scanned the letter quickly.

_Dear Sportacus and Iþrottaalfurinn,_

_Please come quickly. There has been another attack on a child._

_Mayor Meanswell_

_PS. don't let Stephanie come home yet_


	11. From Bad to Worse

"—aren't releasing her name because she's a minor," Mayor Meanswell said to the crowd, which quickly snorted and shook its collective head. "Although yes, we're such a small town that it's a little moot, but still, rules are rules. Penny—ahem, the young lady—is currently on the way to Eyvindarson Hospital with similar injuries to Jives—excuse me, I mean the young man whose name we haven't released either."

Iþrottaalfurinn and Sportacus hovered at the very back of the crowd of parents, watching the mayor speak from the stairs of the town hall. They'd come as quickly as they'd been called, but news traveled so fast in a small town that the adults had already gathered before they'd landed.

Neither elf had tried to speak with them. The parents' glares had spoken volumes.

"We do have one bit of good news," the mayor continued. "The culprit of one attack has been brought to justice already. A sluagh..."

The mayor winced and turned slightly, putting his fist to his mouth. He spoke softly, away from the microphone, but his voice still carried clearly across the crowd to elven ears.

"Oh, right. That's a monster. Those don't go well in police reports. Um. Well."

He brightened up as a thought occurred to him, and he turned back to the microphone.

"Skrímsli Sluagh broke into my house last night and attempted to make off with my niece, Stephanie, and he also attacked local villain Robbie Rotten. Fortunately our local hero Sportacus arrived and saved them both."

Iþrottaalfurinn gave a humorless chuckle under his breath. "Mr. Monster, good grief. Not very subtle, is he?"

Beside him, Sportacus crossed his arms, glancing aside as parents again turned to look at him, their glares softening only slightly. Stopping a monster was all well and good, but where had he been when Penny was hurt? And hadn't he played while Jives had lain frozen mere feet away?

"We've also been sent an additional hero, Iþrottaalfurinn," the mayor said. "Number 8. With his help, the sluagh—oh, I mean Skrímsli Sluagh—was brought down, unfortunately dying as they tried to take him into custody."

From the low murmurs and growls of approval in the crowd, no one else thought it was particularly unfortunate.

"But if the sluagh was dead," the mayor continued, "then that means there may be others lurking about. You know the old rules about keeping children indoors and sealing up all the entrances to the house. Make sure you have your emergency winter kits and use them. Officer Obtuse will be on stand by, and our heroes are on the case."

After waiting a few moments as the mayor fielded questions, Iþrottaalfurinn nudged his brother and leaned close enough to whisper.

"Let's go see if your villainous fae dug up anything."

Sportacus tensed, his mouth pressing into a line. "He's not villainous and he's not my fae."

"You're the one who said he hasn't done anything bad lately," Iþrottaalfurinn said, waving him to come along. "That sounds like you're holding his leash well enough."

"Ithrot!"

They hustled across the park, avoiding the trail of footprints. Sportacus grimaced. The creature's blood hadn't been cleaned up, leaving black splotches along the wall. Their own footsteps were visible under the light layer of fresh snowfall, with splashes here and there to show just how far Robbie had vanished and reappeared again.

"Can all fae do that?" Sportacus asked, motioning at the deep footprints. "Teleport here and there?"

"Some can, some can't," Iþrottaalfurinn shrugged. "It doesn't even seem to run in the same family."

"So they're not like elves," Sportacus said. "Where we all pretty much do the same thing."

Iþrottaalfurinn laughed and shook his head at his brother. "Well, I don't think all the elves would agree we're all alike—"

"You know what I mean," Sportacus said. "One elf is mostly like another, but Robbie's nothing like a sluagh."

"Oh, that." Iþrottaalfurinn shrugged again. "I'm no expert, mind you, but I've been told that fae are as different as flowers. That a orchid may be an orchid, but they'll all have different leaves and petals and colors. So even fae in the same family have different shapes and sizes and powers."

"Huh." Sportacus smiled at that. "Nice way to put it. Who told that you?"

Iþrottaalfurinn frowned so much so that Sportacus blinked at the change.

"A reckless, vicious, violent criminal fairy," he muttered.

Sportacus wasn't sure how to reply to that. His brother had tensed so that his muscles stood out in sharp definition, his hands clenching into fists. They walked in silence toward the school, heading along the fence so that they came around the corner, spotting Robbie in the field at the school's side entrance.

Once again Robbie was without a coat or jacket or anything warm, and Sportacus had to remind himself that the fairy didn't need extra clothing. A spring wind, the scent of dandelions...that was the magic Robbie wrapped himself up in. Sportacus wondered if he could catch that scent if he touched him again.

"I'm glad Robbie just has a glamour," Iþrottaalfurinn said suddenly. "Disguises. Lights. Some short distance teleportation. Nothing really nasty."

"He makes those machines," Sportacus said.

"Yes, but doesn't turn them on the town," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "He doesn't use them to steal or kill things. He doesn't scam people for money."

"I don't think he needs money," Sportacus said. "He once bought a whole pyramid and put it by the town."

Iþrottaalfurinn halted.

"He bought a what?"

"A pyramid," Sportacus said, a little proud that he knew something his brother didn't. "Right over there. Full size."

"...a whole pyramid?" Iþrottaalfurinn frowned. "Why a pyramid? An Egyptian pyramid?"

"I don't think it actually came from Egypt," Sportacus said. "It was obviously brand new. But yes. I think...ah, he wanted to trap me inside of it forever, but that was the last time he ever tried."

"Wait," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I'm still on the whole pyramid thing. Where is it now?"

Sportacus shrugged. "Gone. Sort of crumbled in the first storm and the sand washed away to the beach. Gave it the nice gold color it has now."

Iþrottaalfurinn just stared at him. "You're serious."

"Of course," Sportacus said, a little wounded. "Why would I lie?"

"Why didn't we hear about that?" Iþrottaalfurinn wondered. "Something like should have made the hero newsletter."

"It didn't last more than a couple days," Sportacus said. "But that's why I don't think he needs money."

"True..." Iþrottaalfurinn stared up at the sky, considering that. "I should look up his finances. See where his money comes from."

Strange to think that a fae needed money, and Sportacus didn't think he'd ever seen Robbie working or doing any kind of job. Was it inherited? That Robbie lived out on the edges of town, Sportacus had never questioned, but to live underground in a bunker beneath an old billboard... In three years of living here, there were questions he simply hadn't asked.

Their steps crunched audibly in the snow as they approached. Robbie turned his head but never took his gaze away from the doors.

"About time," Robbie said over his shoulder. "I sealed up the school. Everything's locked but this doorway."

"'Sealed it'?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked. "You can do that?"

"Of course," Robbie said. "The Rotten Lock 2000 is big enough and strong enough for any job, capable of stopping even a full grown troll at a gallop."

Iþrottaalfurinn frowned. "I don't think the doors would stay on their hinges if a troll crashed into them."

"Probably not," Robbie said, "but the lock would be keep the doors shut as they came off the wall."

Iþrottaalfurinn's frown deepened until he muttered "fae logic" and ignored it.

"Well then, all that's left is to go inside and search the school," he said. "No splitting up. We lock the door behind us and then explore each classroom. We'll save the basement for last."

He put his hand on the door, hesitating as he looked through the window for any hint of movement or glowing eyes. Behind him, neither Sportacus nor Robbie spoke, even holding their breath. Iþrottaalfurinn grasped the handle and pulled, tensed and ready for a fight.

The smell of dust and old wood wafted out. The dark hallway stretched in front of them, vanishing into shadow.

"We're going to need to find the lights," Sportacus said.

"No luck," Iþrottaalfurinn said, his hand already sliding against the switch. "Power's out. Storm must have done it."

"I still think we should have started at the forest," Robbie said, peering over the elf's shoulder. "Lots of light, an airship you can call, no walls blocking you in...let's just turn around and go back."

Sportacus reached back and grabbed Robbie's hand, holding him firm as he tried to yank away. To his delight, he felt the glamour again—a warm spring breeze, the scent of dandelions on the wind. It was enough to push away the gloom of the school, and Sportacus found himself smiling as he tightened his grip on the fairy.

"We can't go back if we haven't even gone in yet," Sportacus said. "Come on. You'll be all right."

"You can't know that for sure," Robbie whispered as Sportacus pulled him in, Iþrottaalfurinn leading the way before them.

The door closed, and the hallway went dark. Robbie gave a frightened whimper, and then a fae light blossomed over their heads, giving them a golden light just at arm's reach. Sportacus reached into his pack and pulled out a handful of multicolored flares, giving some to his brother.

"In case we get separated," Sportacus whispered. "You should have a couple, too."

"Thanks," Iþrottaalfurinn said, accepting them and cracking one open. White sparks fell to the floor. "But quit whispering. The sooner we draw it out and kill it, the sooner we're out of here."

Iþrottaalfurinn took a deep breath and, before Robbie could even gasp in horror, yelled in a booming voice that filled the whole school.

"Hey, sluagh! Hello! Come over here!"

Sportacus felt his whole body slump with his shoulders. "Well, there went the element of surprise."

"If we're in their territory," Iþrottaalfurinn reasoned, "then they know we're here already. What's the use of hiding?"

"If they know we're here already," Robbie snapped, "then why yell in the first place?"

"It's a lot more fun to yell and beat up a few monsters than to be scared, right?"

Robbie huddled against Sportacus, holding the elf's hand up to his chest as they crept behind Iþrottaalfurinn, who pushed in doors and waved the flare inside, lighting up rows of empty desks and closets. Dust stirred up at his feet, and the scent of stale air drifted out of each room.

"Can't you make him stop?" Robbie whispered.

"I'll protect you," Sportacus promised. "Besides, if there are any sluagh here, they'll go after him first."

"I don't want any sluagh to come out," Robbie said, holding tighter as Sportacus squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Iþrottaalfurinn opened another door, jumping aside as a stack of papers spilled out and then partly disintegrated into dust. He nudged one aside with his shoe, reading the date of almost forty years prior.

"I forgot how small Lazytown really is," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "None of these rooms are being used. How many children are there here?"

"Just seven," Sportacus said. "And two of them are almost old enough to graduate."

"That's...really weird." Iþrottaalfurinn came to the main office where the hall joined another, looking both ways for glowing eyes. "This is almost a regular sized school, but all the rooms are like storage. Desks and furniture pushed together."

"They only use one class," Robbie muttered. "There's plenty of room."

"Was it always like that?" Sportacus asked.

"Like what?" Robbie asked. "No kids? There's always been kids."

"I mean weren't there more?" Sportacus said. "Was the school ever full? Filling the playground or the park?"

"There were..."

Robbie paused. Recent memory—recent years—were almost devoid of children. Only seven children, and two of them almost adults so that they didn't visit the other kids anymore. Yellowed grass overtook the park and soon hardly anyone was outside playing.

But that hadn't always been true. There had been a time...ages and ages ago. More children, more people, full shops. Food and trinkets underneath the tree. And then slowly people had gone away, moving or even abandoning their homes as they took the long road out of town.

"There used to be so many children," Robbie said slowly, remembering. "They filled the park. I couldn't get any sleep, there were so many of them."

Iþrottaalfurinn turned around, raising the flare to better see him. A fae light smoothed everything over with a pleasant gold sheen, but the harsh light of the flare lit their faces with cold truth. Although Robbie's face hadn't changed, there was something much older in his eyes, something calculating. Robbie met his look, and between them, they felt the weight of hundreds of years—of knowing the real reasons why people left small towns.

"If you were the town guardian," Iþrottaalfurinn said, "then why did you stop?"

Robbie didn't reply.

"A radie protects the village that cares for him," Iþrottaalfurinn said, and then his eyes widened. "They didn't—"

"There's monsters in here," Robbie said, cutting him off. "Now's not the time for a walk down memory lane."

"Robbie—" Iþrottaalfurinn tried.

"Fangs and claws and things," Robbie said, and he took a step back into the hall they'd just come from, wringing his hands at his chest. "Can't get distracted, monsters will eat me."

"Only if there are monsters," Sportacus said. "We haven't seen anything."

"Doesn't mean there's nothing," Robbie said, "and I don't want to go any farther. You go on yelling your fool elf head off and—"

A tink, tink, tink of points on stone.

The floor tiles shuddered, cracked, broke underneath Robbie's feet. In his shadow, a dark hand shot through and dug claws into his leg.

"Robbie—!"

Sportacus was already diving forward to tackle him out of the way, but he missed as Robbie vanished in a puff of purple smoke. While Robbie reappeared on the floor, holding his pierced ankle, Sportacus found himself plummeting headfirst toward the gash in the floor, the gaping mouth widening as dozens of dark hands clawed at the sides. He disappeared without a sound.

Yelling his brother's name, Iþrottaalfurinn flung his flare into the void, and the shadows swallowed the light entirely. He grabbed Robbie's arm and yanked him forward, not caring how Robbie dragged his wounded leg. Iþrottaalfurinn heard the snarls and shrieks erupt in triumph, saw the gout of blood splash up like a wave to strike the walls.

Iþrottaalfurinn screamed and dropped Robbie, cracking open his second flare as he came up to the edge of the hole that now stretched from wall to wall. Thick red light shaded everything in black—the gaping wound of the floor, the blood on the walls, the blur of something leaping up from the darkness and landing on all fours in front of Iþrottaalfurinn. It keened and came up against the wall, blood spreading around it in a black pool on a red floor.

The older elf was already reaching one arm back, about to strike the creature back to where it came from—then he saw the hat askew on pointed ears, saw the wide eyes and the blood across his brother's face. The mouth full of sharpened teeth flinched as Iþrottaalfurinn grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him away, back to the golden fairy light over...

An empty hall. Iþrottaalfurinn scowled but there was no time to curse the damn villainous fae for running and abandoning them. He hauled Sportacus up, putting his arm over his shoulders and half-carried, half-led him down the next hall, heading for the closest door. The sluagh had to have been right behind them—he could feel their claws scraping at his shoulders.

When another rend began to open up in the floor ahead of them, Iþrottaalfurinn gave up running for the door and instead threw himself through the closest window, using all of his strength to break the glass, the lattice, the sill, turning so that Sportacus landed on top of himself.

There was no time to be gentle—he pushed his brother off onto the snow and climbed to his feet. The only thing keeping in what he now realized was a whole nest of sluagh was the single fairy light, rotating faster and losing more petals as it came up against the combined malice of multiple dark fae.

"At least your villain left us that," Iþrottaalfurinn muttered, gathering handfuls of snow and slush and piling it on the broken bricks that was all that was left of the window. He bit his lip, pinched the top of the snow in his hands, and pulled the snow like a delicate sheet of ice up to the top of the gaping hole.

He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands for the next part. Elf magic wasn't as flashy as fae spellcraft, but working the earth and elements took just as much power and skill. The altered ice was no more special than any bit of ice on the road, but it would serve to hold a stave, and the magic would make the ice stronger than the monsters inside.

Using his fingertip, he traced one short line after another, added tiny curves, creating the intricate design that would seal the sluagh in. Through the ice, their eyes glittered at him, just at the edge of the fae light, pacing and wearing down the fae light's protection. To kill two elves at once, they would eagerly risk exposing themselves to sunlight. The bright handful of fae petals drifted down, one, then another, as the light dimmed.

His heart pounded so that he felt like he'd swallowed a bunch of twigs and he grew uncomfortably aware of how his clothing had twisted and bunched up in the run, but he finished the last line without distraction. The stave glowed with power, the ice shimmered, and then the whole patch gripped the brickwork like steel. The final petal flickered and went out, and the mass of claws and fangs crashed against the ice, pressed painfully close for a moment—and then the blurred shapes melted away and retreated silently into the dark school.

Iþrottaalfurinn slumped back and flopped into the snow. He glanced at his brother, who had curled up and squeezed his eyes shut. Whether from cold or fear, Sportacus shivered and didn't move.

"You don't look like you're bleeding," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "You changed when you landed, ah?"

Sportacus curled a little tighter, but in the gray light, his fingertips were clearly pointed. Iþrottaalfurinn knew he hadn't imagined his brother's teeth gone sharp or the slit pupils of his eyes.

"Oy, little bothers," he sighed. "If it's any consolation, I did the same thing first time I fought a mellith. Never seen one before, all teeth and bad attitude. First mission right out of the gate and I get one of those nasties. It took me an hour to relax enough to change back."

While pulling his uniform into place, left askew by their wild flight, he kept the chatter going, filling the space between them with soft words, describing how the sluagh were locked away and that the children would be happy there was no school until something was done. And that they'd love it if the elves had to burn the school down, because what child doesn't want to see their school crumble with all its homework?

"You know," Iþrottaalfurinn said, "you did good back there. If you hadn't changed, you probably would have been torn apart. Instead I'll bet you gave one of them a reason to think twice."

Sportacus didn't respond. He took a long breath, then after a moment, sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. Blood splattered his face like a mask, and when he went to wipe it away, Iþrottaalfurinn grabbed his wrist.

"No no, not with your claws out," he warned. "You'll cut your eyes or something."

Sportacus stared at nothing, then nodded once and lowered his head. He dug his hand into the snow.

"I...hurt one of them," Sportacus said, the cold turning his words into frost. "It came at me and...I couldn't think. I just. I hit its neck and it sort of came apart."

"Your magic came out," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "It saved you, changing like you did."

Sportacus grimaced. The line of his face shifted back as his teeth changed in his closed mouth, and his fingertips lost their edge.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone. Not even them."

"...you're such a good hero." Iþrottaalfurinn smiled faintly. "I couldn't wait to get into a fight. And then when I did, I spent the rest of the night throwing up off the side of my balloon."

Sportacus nodded once, then frowned and looked at him, his eyes once again normal.

"'Throwing up'?"

"Nerves," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "You're taking this very well, comparatively."

"Wait, were you still over the city?" Sportacus asked.

"If I was, it didn't go in the report," Iþrottaalfurinn said with a shameless grin. "Now, do you feel up to walking? We need to let the mayor know about this."

"I...just want to go back to my ship and sleep for a hundred years," Sportacus said. "I think I feel a little of what Robbie feels now—wait—Robbie! Where is he?"

As Sportacus sat straight, looking around the school yard, Iþrottaalfurinn shrugged and gave a noncommittal tilt of his head.

"Relax, he poofed out and left us," Iþrottaalfurinn said, tugging at the sleeve of his uniform as it pulled. "But at least his fairy light followed us. This would've been a different story if that hadn't held those sluagh back long enough."

He huffed and reached back to his collar, intending to yank off his uniform's top so he could straighten it properly, but his fingertips found something small and furry clinging to his shirt, just under the bob of his hat. Frowning, he gently pulled it up and off, holding it in front of his face.

If anything, his grin widened.

"Well, well," he said. "Looks like I owe someone an apology."

A little black bat dangled from Iþrottaalfurinn's fingertips, his wings hanging down as if he were utterly resigned to being devoured. Sportacus scooped him up in both hands, cradling him against his chest.

"Explains why the light followed us," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Followed him. Safest place in a fight is on the elf's back, huh?"

"His leg's hurt," Sportacus said, but he saw that already the wounds were closing at the edges.

"Come on, fairy," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Change back. We need to talk."

"He's still scared," Sportacus said. "And he's cold. He's trembling. Let him—"

There was a soft rush of wind, and then Robbie was in Sportacus' lap, holding him tight, refusing to look up. The glamour of warmth had gone and he huddled close, using Sportacus as shelter in the winter air.

"What's there to talk about?" he demanded. "Monsters found, yay, job done and I want to go home."

"Underground?" Iþrottaalfurinn asked mercilessly. "Where the sluagh might have already discovered the tunnels? All of your escape routes might be full of sluagh by now."

Robbie turned just enough to glare at him, then buried his face against Sportacus' shoulder again.

"I admit, it's pretty bad," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Three, even four or five sluagh we could take on. A normal nest, you know? But that was no little nest. That was maybe twenty, thirty of them? Maybe more. Now..."

He sighed. The sky was choked with clouds.

"No one's sent any word to us," he said. "We're all alone. I admit...I've never faced anything this bad before."

"It's...bad?" Robbie asked, glancing at him.

"Very bad," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "The worst."

Robbie considered that, then sat straight and turned his hand in a circle. A cellphone appeared in his palm.

Iþrottaalfurinn's eyes widened. "Whoa, whoa...I don't think it's as bad as all that."

Too late—Robbie had dialed the number and put it on speaker, ignoring how Iþrottaalfurinn shook his head and waved his hands frantically. The call connected and then Iþrottaalfurinn was wincing and gritting his teeth as if he expected to be punched.

"Hello, darling, so nice to hear from you," purred a voice on the other end, sounding smooth despite the crackling static. "I saw you tried to call earlier. Cleared my whole schedule just in case."

"There's monsters here," Robbie said, grimacing at how childish he sounded even to himself. "Lots of them. And they're hungry."

"And your precious little hero friend? Can't run and jump them all away?"

Robbie swallowed once, not looking at either elf. "He almost got killed."

"Oh. Oh my." The surprised laugh that followed didn't sound sorry at all. "Well then, be there in a hot minute. Ciao!"

The call disconnected. Robbie stared at the phone as if it were a viper.

"That's it, then," Iþrottaalfurinn breathed. "You actually called him."

Sportacus glanced between both of them. "What? Who are you talking about?"

Before either could answer, there was a billowing purple smoke that filled the air and rolled across the ground in a much more grandiose circle than Robbie's vanishing smoke ever did. A tall silhouette appeared in the center, clad in a black catsuit with gloves and...Sportacus blinked. Heels. Platform heels on heavy boots.

"Oh, my little baby brother and his favorite hero!" The figure came out of the smoke like a model, one foot crossing the other, walking with the sashaying confidence that Sportacus had never felt even after his first triple somersault. "I was already on my way and then you called, so I dropped everything, including the queen's plane—it's a pity you didn't wait just a touch longer or I would have landed in town and—"

The figure halted, and his glare zeroed in at Iþrottaalfurinn.

"What," he growled, "are you doing here?"

Iþrottaalfurinn sighed, threw back his head, and glared at him from the corner of his eye.

"Hello, Glanni."

Several miles away, merely a white dot over Glanni's shoulder, the queen's plane tumbled out of the sky into one of the empty fields around town with a rumble that sent up a thin plume of fire and gray smoke.


	12. In the Lair

"'Little brother'?"

Sportacus looked at Robbie, who didn't answer, then Glanni, then back at Robbie again. There was some family resemblance around the face, although Glanni seemed bigger, and there looked to be real power in those fists now resting on his hips. And their style of dress couldn't have been more different. Robbie looked like a rather eccentric businessman. Glanni—Sportacus had never been in a club, but Glanni looked like he'd stepped out of a rave wilder than Sportacus could imagine.

Before Glanni could throw a spell or a right hook at Iþrottaalfurinn, Robbie scrambled to his feet and drew himself up to his full height. He towered over both elves, but he only drew even with Glanni, who had the added advantage of his boots.

"Why do you always do this?" Robbie hissed as if he didn't wait the elves to hear him. "A plane? Seriously? A plane?"

"Don't give me that look," Glanni said, tossing his head. "I had to get here somehow, didn't I?"

"You could have just popped in!" Robbie said.

Glanni gave him a look.

"Or popped in and out a few times," Robbie amended with a huff. "It's just a few miles—"

"It's more than 'just a few miles'," Glanni said. "I would have gotten here exhausted if I hadn't borrowed her plane."

On the ground, Iþrottaalfurinn groaned and put his head in his hands with a muffled groan.

"Tell me the queen wasn't in there when it crashed," he said.

"Of course not," Glanni said. "I had to convince the guards to let me on as her new gown designer, and then I had to convince them all to leave, including the pilot, and all this while she was coming through with her luggage. Honestly, I don't think you notice all the work I go to."

"Oh, it's noticed, all right." Iþrottaalfurinn rested his chin on his hand. "Just like the wreckage of that plane will be, too."

"Nonsense. It fell from so high I'd be surprised if there was anything larger than a coin covering that field."

"You're not helping your case any," Iþrottaalfurinn sighed.

"I'm not talking to you anymore," Glanni said, turning his attention back to his brother. "Now you said you had monsters. Or did you mean the nasty little brute sitting there?"

Sportacus inhaled sharply at the insult, then realized it wasn't directed at himself. He glanced at Iþrottaalfurinn, who rolled his eyes and didn't say anything.

"Sluagh," Robbie said. "There's a nest, a huge one, inside the school. They came up from under the floor and nearly ate all of us."

"Yes, that's what sluagh do," Glanni said, and he pressed his fist to his mouth, considering the dark building in front of them.

Sportacus took the moment to make a face at his brother, wordlessly asking for an explanation as to who or what Glanni was. A fairy, certainly, but unlike he'd ever seen before, and that included Robbie. Instead Iþrottaalfurinn pretended he didn't see his look.

"I don't suppose we could—" Glanni started.

"No," said Iþrottaalfurinn.

"But it'd be so much easier—" Glanni said.

"No," said Iþrottaalfurinn.

"I could just start it at that ugly, crude little stave on the window," Glanni said, glaring at him sideways. "Is it yours? What am I saying, of course it's yours. No subtlety, no finesse, just ugly lines on a dirty window. What is it, a seal to keep them in? It'd be much better used as spark for a grand conflagration."

"No," said Iþrottaalfurinn, drawing out the syllable. "We are not burning down the school."

"You're going to wish you had," Glanni sing-songed.

"That's completely unrealistic," Iþrottaalfurinn said, standing up and wagging a stern finger at him. "The school is important to the town. We can't just go burning things down because it's easier."

"It's not just easier," Glanni said. "It's faster, far more efficient and plenty more fun."

Iþrottaalfurinn's face began to turn a shade of red. "It's not fun—it's ridiculous, it's reckless—"

"Now now," Glanni said, "you'd be doing the children a favor, getting rid of all that homework for them."

"They're good kids!" Iþrottaalfurinn stood up as straight as he could, glaring at Glanni from five inches below. "They wouldn't want their school destroyed!"

"Now who's being unrealistic?"

Glanni spun, ignoring Iþrottaalfurinn dogging his heels as he walked over to the window, tapping the glass. Iþrottaalfurinn gasped and grabbed his arm, yanking him away.

"Don't touch it!" Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I had to rush it—it's not very strong—are you trying to let them out?"

"I'm trying to see if they're still in there." Glanni let Iþrottaalfurinn have that hand, instead cupping his other hand against the glass and putting his face close, peering into the darkness. "I think it's all clear."

"...what?"

"Admittedly, it's not very fair to you," Glanni said. "How could we expect an elf to know how so many of these buildings are over old springs and wells? It isn't like we're right next to the sea with mountains nearby. Honestly, where do you think the rain goes? Unless the town's been flooding lately and Robbie's little bunker turns into a swimming pool?"

"Wait, what did you mean it's all clear?" Iþrottaalfurinn peered through the window, then raised the glass and climbed back over the sill, shouting 'hello' down the hall.

"Don't bother; they're all gone. Sluagh nests don't stay put." Glanni waved his hands at the streets and the town and the park. "All of my little brother's tunnels under the city...they're probably holed up in one of them, and every time you get close, off they'll go again, just popping up to munch on a brat or two."

He sat on the window sill making a show of looking at his nails.

"It'll be harder than hell to get all of them rounded up into one building again," he said, and he fluttered his eyes over shoulder at the elf. "We could have solved it so quickly with just one little fire."

"You..."

Iþrottaalfurinn was turning a darker shade of red and all but hopping from one foot to the other, wringing his hat in his hands. Glanni laughed once in delight, then turned his attention back to his brother.

And froze.

Robbie was still on his feet, glaring daggers at Glanni, but the elf... Sportacus had come up behind him, one hand in a fist on his hips, the other on Robbie's back in support. Neither moved, completely comfortable in each other's presence. They stood so close together that there was no doubt in Glanni's mind.

"What?" Robbie snapped. "What are you staring at?"

Glanni stared at them a moment longer, than glanced over his shoulder at Iþrottaalfurinn...who'd stopped hopping and now indulged in a smug grin.

"You finally noticed," Iþrottaalfurinn said.

"How long?" Glanni demanded.

"Oh, I couldn't say," Iþrottaalfurinn said with exaggerated courtesy. "They were like this when I got here."

"What!"

Glanni stared back at his brother, his jaw dropping not so much in surprise as deep offense.

"Yes, well," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "I suppose I should have said something. I couldn't expect a fae to know what a besotted elf looks like."

"You..."

Behind them, Sportacus and Robbie glanced at each other and asked if they knew what besotted meant. Glanni, however, had whirled dramatically to face Iþrottaalfurinn and stomped to make the runway proud, towering over the other elf.

"You didn't try to stop them?" Glanni said. "May I remind you that Robbie is the tenth most notorious villain in the entire world?"

"True," Iþrottaalfurinn said, lowering his voice as Glanni came closer, all but whispering intimately now. "There's more than one way to rehabilitate a criminal."

Glanni loomed over him, and his wings unfurled slowly, spreading out to give him added height. But they were thin, a dragonfly's translucent wings, and they only served to gleam and sparkle around his head.

And then Glanni jerked backward up into the air, his wings suddenly flittering so fast that they hummed, yanking him gracelessly over their heads.

"I'm going to poison the town," Glanni said, crossing his arms. "Don't wait up."

Iþrottaalfurinn gasped, about to sprint across town to his balloon, when Robbie groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Can you visit just one time without being a drama queen?"

"I'm not the one being a smug, overbearing jerk!" Glanni pointed at Iþrottaalfurinn, jabbing his finger with each word. "Watch out for his brother if he's anything like Santa's little helper!"

Both elves stepped forward. "Hey!"

Glanni stuck out his tongue and darted off, pulled along by his wings so that he looked like a doll dragged this way and that until he got himself going in one direction. Iþrottaalfurinn covered his face.

"I knew we shouldn't have called him," he sighed. "Now there are two problems in Lazytown."

"Relax," Robbie said. "He's not going to poison anyone."

"He just said—!"

"He's going to lay poison around the places where sluagh might come up out of the tunnels," Robbie said. "Around the lair and...oh dammit."

Robbie sank to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut, long limbs jumbling up as he sat crosslegged with his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" Sportacus asked, kneeling beside him. "Are you hurt?"

"My lair..." Robbie whined. "My machines and my sofa...how am I going to sleep now?"

"Yeah, that's true." Iþrottaalfurinn nodded. "If Robbie and I could get in, those sluagh may have been in your home. Do you think they grabbed the traps again?"

"I hid them very carefully," Robbie said. "No one could find them."

Iþrottaalfurinn and Sportacus shared a look and didn't comment.

"But Glanni said he was going to poison the town," Iþrottaalfurinn said, coming back to the most important thing. "How can you be sure—"

"Because it's my town," Robbie said, running his hands back over his hair and heaving a long sigh. "And I called him. Now if I was you, I wouldn't eat anything he got close to, but he won't hurt Lazytown. He's just putting out poison for sluagh. Like bait."

"Then while he's putting out fae bug spray," Sportacus said, not noticing the dirty look Robbie gave him, "we should be doing something, too."

"Yes," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "Something that won't get in the way of Glanni's magic. Hm. I should put sigils over the houses. That should be okay..."

"I...don't really know many sigils," Sportacus said. "I never could get the hang of them."

"You and magic," Iþrottaalfurinn nodded. "I don't suppose you might have something that could help, Robbie? It's your town, after all."

Robbie turned his head, considering, but Sportacus noticed that his look came to rest on the park and its tree, barren of leaves and with a fine lattice of snow. The bench there was covered in ice, the ice cream stand likewise frozen solid.

"...I guess I could see if my lair is still okay," Robbie said. "And get a couple of old tools."

"You shouldn't go alone," Sportacus said. "There might be sluagh inside."

"They'll stay away from me," Robbie said, spinning up a golden light. Its glow was faint and fragile in the winter light, and he bit his lip, holding the light close in his hands. "But, um...just in case, maybe you could come along?"

"Absolutely."

Sportacus stood, holding out his hand to help Robbie up. He blinked as Robbie held the light over Sportacus' head so that its glow centered on the elf.

"Robbie...?"

"I can always make another one," Robbie said. "This one'll keep you safe. From my brother, too."

"Is Glanni really that dangerous?" Sportacus asked, glancing at Iþrottaalfurinn.

Instead of an answer, he only got another little smile and a shrug, and then Iþrottaalfurinn was up and moving again, heading vaguely in the same direction that Glanni had gone.

* * *

"So..." Sportacus started. "You can fly?"

Robbie glanced sideways at him, arms crossed with hunched shoulders as they trudged through the snow. He only kept up with the elf because his legs were longer; Sportacus showed an obscene amount of energy even in snow that came up to his knees.

"Sometimes," Robbie mumbled. "When I bring my wings out."

Behind them, Robbie's wings were invisible but one tip dragged along the snow, leaving a long line after their footprints. Sportacus winced. Invisible didn't mean the wing was all right—just that he couldn't see the damage.

They were just barely at the edge of Lazytown—the glow of his elf flare and Robbie's fairy light gave them a small circle in the darkness, showing the lines of the last house and fence, the curve of the sidewalk that ended and became the road leading to Robbie's hideout. The whole stretch hadn't been used since the latest child had been taken to a hospital, and the snow now piled up to make the way feel ten times longer.

"The ship would have been faster and warmer," Sportacus said, trying not to sound judgmental.

"And way too high," Robbie said. "I've already fallen out of it once. I won't risk going in there again."

Starting to ask if he was afraid of heights, Sportacus cut himself off. Of course Robbie was afraid of heights. The fairy couldn't even jump down from his billboard or from the tree. But then...

"How do you fly if you're afraid?" Sportacus asked.

"I'm not afraid of flying," Robbie snapped. "I just don't like doing it. It's hard and it's cold and it's high up and..."

Robbie's voice trailed off. Sportacus waited a moment, but Robbie didn't continue.

The wind cut across them, blowing snow along the drifts, and Sportacus turned his shoulder, wincing as the wind found the damp edges of his clothes. The flare was a poor source of heat, and the darkness seemed to grow deeper as the fairy light spun around, briefly leaving him at the edge of its glow.

Robbie draped his long, heavy arm around Sportacus and drew him close.

_Spring._

_A warm wind._

_Sunlight and the scent of dandelions—long grass rustling and the flapping of black wings—_

A moment passed before Sportacus realized he was surrounded not by springtime but by fae magic. Whatever glamour or spellwork Robbie had over himself now stretched over Sportacus, bringing with it the pink and purple twilight of dusk and the evening wind rustling the grass. The scent of flowers grew heavy, and for a moment the golden light lay not over snow but over a field of dandelions and lilacs and lavender.

"Stupid superheroes," Robbie muttered. "You're all alike. You think the cold won't hurt you."

Despite the sudden rush of warmth, Sportacus was more surprised by the comfort of having the fae's arm around him. For all that Robbie looked like a mass of noodly limbs, there was real strength holding Sportacus close, and the elf grew intensely aware of the muscles shifting behind his back.

"I..." Sportacus said, stumbling over words as he focused on talking again. "Well. If, um, I mean I'm not used to feeling the cold so much because I'm usually running everywhere. The exercise keeps me warm."

"I wouldn't know," Robbie said. "I don't flippity flop everywhere."

"You never worked in the snow?" Sportacus asked.

"Building things isn't the same as working," Robbie said.

"Wha—?" Sportacus said. "Who told you that? Building is work! I've seen that heavy machinery you have to lug around and put together. Are you telling me that's easy for you?"

"Well...I..." Robbie coughed and looked away. "It's not running or jumping or dancing."

"It's still hard work," Sportacus said with the air of someone who cannot be convinced otherwise. "You just like doing it, so it doesn't seem like work."

"...huh." Robbie frowned but he didn't look convinced.

Their light finally touched the edge of Robbie's lair, shining on the glistening ice and steel. They had to let go of each other to climb safely up to the entrance, and Sportacus hissed as the cold settled on him properly again.

"Don't go in just yet," Sportacus said. "We need to make sure that it's safe."

"Did your brother destroy my wards?" Robbie asked, kneeling by the round entrance and tapping it once.

"There...there were blue sparks," Sportacus said. "I don't know?"

"No, it's still there. He must have just told it to ignore him." Robbie ran his hand along the edge, leaving a blue gleam of magic behind. "You really don't like dealing with spells, huh?"

"I don't think I had very good teachers," Sportacus said. "And it doesn't come naturally to me. I'm much better with...well. Running and flip flopping."

Robbie pulled the entrance wide and beckoned him after. They climbed down, taking the last few rungs quietly and listening closely. When they heard nothing, they relaxed, and Robbie sealed the entrance so that the snow stopped blowing in. After a moment, the lair began to feel warm again.

"That's..." Robbie faltered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Good. That you and magic, I mean. Well. That you and magic don't get along. The other one..."

Sportacus knew what he meant. The other elf, Number 9, had been good with magic.

Robbie went to the table of old steel traps, frowning that the white cloth had been pulled away. The evidence of his war with the previous hero lay bare.

"Oh..." He heaved a long sigh. "You found them."

Sportacus gave him a look. "They were under a sheet."

"I know," Robbie almost whined. "You couldn't see them at all. Elves are just really good at finding things."

Sportacus put his hand over his eyes but he didn't comment. He would ask his brother later, but maybe this was just something about fairies. Out of sight, out of mind.

"It was for the best," Sportacus said. "We found your notes and it showed Iþrottaalfurinn that you weren't the one to blame."

"My notes?" Robbie echoed, looking over the workstation.

"He sent them back home," Sportacus said, a little apologetically. "To see if the elves could make sense of the marks."

Robbie went very, very still, and his expression turned flat. He didn't look at Sportacus.

"Did they?" he asked softly.

"I...don't think so?" Sportacus said. "They haven't sent word back. Maybe they're still working on it. They haven't had much time to study it yet."

"...maybe."

Robbie took a long breath and didn't comment, lowering his head slightly as the weariness and worry settled on him again. Sportacus couldn't imagine what he felt. He knew that Robbie didn't trust elves, save perhaps for himself. But the fae wasn't panicking or kicking him out or casting more wards, so Sportacus took that for a good sign. As he watched, Robbie started counting the traps on the table.

"Is that all of them?" Sportacus asked.

"Yes," Robbie said. "Minus the one the mayor has and the one I, um, threw. At your brother. Sorry but not really sorry?"

"Under the circumstances," Sportacus said, "I can understand. Just...I hope it doesn't happen again."

"If he doesn't attack me again," Robbie grumbled. "All right. Let me get my bag, grab some tools and parts. I think I have a couple little motors lying around..."

Sportacus watched him move around the lab, sweeping his long arm across his work station to shove tools into a duffel bag, tossing in mechanical pieces that he didn't recognize. Finding himself useless for the moment, Sportacus studied the lair, the vents that occasionally puffed steam running along the ceiling. Several clear tubes held costumes that he recognized from Robbie's scheming, including the dinosaur outfit.

His interest kept coming back to the bright orange sofa, all alone in the middle of an empty floor.

"Why do you—" he started, then noticed what Robbie was taking apart. "Is that a periscope?"

"Of course," Robbie said, taking off the viewer and handles and tossing it in the bag. "I'm not leaving this little beauty behind."

"But how will you see if it's off the...?" Sportacus shook his head and chalked it up to fae magic. "Do you really spend all your time in that chair?"

Robbie hefted the bag onto his back and stumbled several steps to the right with its weight. Sportacus grabbed him before he could topple, slinging the bag over his own shoulder.

"I've got it," Sportacus said. "You all right?"

"Fine, fine," Robbie said, leaning against the chair to catch his breath. "And it's not really all the time. I work and I cook, and I spy on...well."

Sportacus gave him a look. He knew exactly who Robbie was spying on.

"Not anymore!" Robbie said too quickly. "Much? Um, the chair! Right, the chair...it's the most comfortable chair in the world. I can even fall asleep there sometimes."

"A bed would be a lot more restful," Sportacus said before he could stop himself from falling into the old argument he'd had when the children wanted to sleep in the treehouse.

"Oh, I can never sleep in a bed," Robbie said. "It takes a week on a bed no matter what I do. But the sofa? Two or three days, tops."

Sportacus blinked. "Wait. Days? Robbie, do you mean you can't—"

A low wailing siren cut him off. The sound started low, but as the lights began to flicker, the siren turned into a howl that he recognized with a start. Robbie had repurposed an old air raid siren from the war as a warning alarm.

Robbie grabbed Sportacus' arm, holding him close like a shield.

"What is that?" Sportacus said, standing straight as if the threat were inside with them. "Is it sluagh?"

"Worse," Robbie breathed, his voice a whisper. "In the sky."

"In the sky?" Sportacus frowned. In his mind, he had the brief image of sluagh with black wings, all claws and fangs, screeching down toward children.

"I.." Robbie swallowed once. "Even after you arrived, I was still afraid...I thought..."

"Robbie?"

"I was scared he'd come back."

Sportacus felt his body tighten up. This siren hadn't gone off when Iþrottaalfurinn arrived. This was magically aligned to one hero in particular. One hero who shouldn't have been here and who certainly hadn't called ahead.

Nine was coming.


	13. Storm Brewing

Like a whirlwind, Robbie had grabbed his bag back from Sportacus and upended it, spilling out everything he'd gathered. As screwdrivers and nuts and bolts clattered across the floor, Robbie was already heading to the back of the room, to the tubes where he kept his costumes.

Sportacus watched him with his mouth gaping, left at a loss for words. Robbie was digging his fingers into the panels beneath the pneumatic tubes and yanking out wires and pipes in a shower of sparks. The machine slowly died as its power went out, its lights going dark as its hum fell silent. Sportacus wondered how Robbie could destroy something so obviously important and central to his home, and he came closer, looking over the fairy's shoulder.

From deep within his machine, Robbie pulled out a small point of light that shone from between his fingers.

Sportacus tried to ask him what he'd done, but the siren was growing louder, drowning all the noise in the lair.

As Robbie gathered the light to himself, cupping it in his hands close to his chest, Sportacus glanced around the spacious room and found the source of the noise—a megaphone that had appeared right next to the orange sofa.

Its purpose there wasn't lost on Sportacus. If Robbie had built it right next to his bed, that meant he wanted the warning as soon as possible, even if that meant interrupting his precious sleep. The alarm grew shrill, meant to wake Robbie from even the deepest dream and give him time to safeguard himself.

But right now the alarm was the danger, alerting any sluagh beneath the ground that they were there. Since Robbie was entranced by whatever magic he'd pulled from the machine, Sportacus left him and moved closer to the source of the sound, looking for an off button. When he didn't find one, wincing at how the volume had begun to hurt, he instead yanked the megaphone off of its mount.

The alarm dwindled to a comical spurt and went silent.

"There," Sportacus said, sighing in relief. "That's..."

He paused. As Robbie bent and dug into the machine again, pulling out parts that clanked across the cold steel walkway, Sportacus felt the air change. The lair that had once felt still and dusty breathed with a cool scent of snow and pine as a breeze cut through the room. His shiver had nothing to do with the sudden chill. Following the source of the wind, he found the riveted circle of a tunnel that stretched into darkness, its hatch hanging wide open on its hinges, swaying slightly.

Yelling the fairy's name, Sportacus sprinted to the hatch and started to close it, finding it heavier than he expected. With both hands pressed against the hatch, he put one foot up on the wall, using the stones for leverage.

"Robbie!" Sportacus yelled again, hearing the faint scrapes of something sharp on steel, of high pitched cries from the distance. It sounded like a wall of rats coming up from the earth, and it was coming faster than he thought possible.

The hatch moved slowly, groaning on hinges that Sportacus now saw were covered in rust. Robbie must never have moved this door if it connected directly to the tunnels—its hinges were solid, debris and rust had built up along its bottom edge, and the tunnel in front of it was completely dark.

"Robbie!" Sportacus yelled again. "They're coming!"

Robbie was moving behind him, grabbing a lever he hadn't seen before and shoving it down. Yellow utility lights suddenly ignited along the tunnel—thick wires along the wall strung from one light to the next, each of them circled by steel frames to keep anything from smashing into them.

At the farthest point of the tunnel where it curved out of sight came an explosion of sparks as the light went dark. Then the darkness was rushing closer, and Sportacus could make out the shapes of long arms and claws, the glow of luminescent eyes reflecting the light just before they smashed each bulb.

Sportacus gave up moving the door. It simply wasn't going to happen. He put his hand on Robbie's shoulder, ready to drag him back up the ladder.

Robbie snatched the light over Sportacus' head, held it a moment, then flung it down the tunnel. The glowing blossom of light spun wildly, and the sides of the tunnel ignited with bright fae symbols that flashed like fire. Sportacus stepped back, hands raised at the burst of heat. Even so far away, the fire forced him to turn to protect himself. The tunnel burned, and the shrieks dwindled as the sluagh fled back into the darkness.

A few scorched ashes flurried along the tunnel, blown across the floor to their feet. Robbie wouldn't meet Sportacus' eyes as he ran his fingertip along the edge of the door, tracing a circle that sparkled, and then the door shut by itself, sealing with a solid clunk.

Robbie glanced sideways, looking to see if Sportacus was watching him. When he saw Sportacus glaring, Robbie flinched and turned away.

"I don't think they'll come in that way," Robbie mumbled. "Anymore."

"You had that prepared," Sportacus said. "You had those markings there already. They were old."

Robbie tried to imagine a good excuse and came up with nothing.

"You were ready for this," Sportacus said, sounding more and more hurt. "I told Iþrottaalfurinn that you had nothing to do with it, and now—"

"I don't!" Robbie said, facing him again. "I didn't! It wasn't for them—I didn't know about them for ages, not until I saw them attacking pink girl—"

"But that!" Sportacus pointed at the locked hatch. "What was that for?"

Robbie didn't answer for a long moment. He stared at the floor, tapping his fingertips together, and breathed like a child about to drown, gulping air. His reply was so soft that Sportacus couldn't catch it.

"I said," Robbie whispered when pressed, "it was for you."

Sportacus shook his head in confusion. "What?"

"The spell," Robbie said, "the trap, the fire...in case you came through the tunnels."

With rising shock, Sportacus looked back at the hatch, then at Robbie. "...that would have killed me."

"Anything with magic," Robbie said in agreement. "I thought you would do what he did—try to douse for my routes back here. Or put down sigils to follow the ley lines, the lair is right where two of them cross."

Sportacus stared at him in dawning realization of what Iþrottaalfurinn had meant before about exploding ley lines and fairy circles. The fight between Number 9 and Robbie hadn't just been destructive; it had been absolutely murderous.

"Why didn't you ever manage to kill me?" Sportacus whispered.

"You didn't use magic," Robbie said with a small stamp of his foot, his old frustrations rising up. "You never tried to cast a single spell. It was always 'eat your sportscandy' and 'exercise when you can' and it was annoying, but it wasn't...you didn't..."

Robbie took a long breath, visibly trying to calm himself.

"You didn't try to get rid of me. You didn't make me stop. You..." He swallowed once. "You were you. Not him."

Sportacus' anger softened though it didn't completely vanish. He reached out one hand, palm up.

"I don't ever want to fight you," Sportacus said. "You're my best friend. More than a friend."

Robbie considered his hand, warring with himself. With a grimace that seemed to twist him inside out, he took Sportacus' hand, holding tight.

"Elves usually aren't friends," he said. "I don't want to fight you either. But..."

His grimace faded, and he stood straight, glaring at the siren megaphone on the floor. He looked back at Sportacus, who was struck by the memory of Robbie on the airship, fading in and out of shadow, made of angles and claws.

"You can't stop me from fighting him," Robbie said.

"I don't want either of you to fight," Sportacus said.

"It will be me and Glanni," Robbie warned, "against Number 9 and your brother. And you, if you try to get in the way. I don't want to hurt you..."

The way he held tight to Sportacus' hand made clear how much he didn't want to fight...and how much he thought he might have to.

"I won't fight you," Sportacus promised. "And I'll try to keep my brother from getting involved, but you know what he's like."

"Elves stick together," Robbie nodded. "At least Glanni is still powerful. I..."

He held his other hand close to his chest, light pouring out from between his fingers. Sportacus touched his hand, looking up questioningly.

"It's the last power I have," Robbie said. "From long ago. When I use this up...that's it. No more disguises, no more machines."

"Robbie—"

"But this is my place," Robbie said. "And I won't be driven out."

"—but what about the sluagh?" Sportacus asked. "What if they attack, too?"

Robbie's eyes flashed. "If they get in the way, that's two birds with one stone."

That he held up three fingers didn't make Sportacus feel any better.

* * *

Sportacus and Robbie left the lair, climbing up out into the gloom of early morning. The pale sun still lay below the horizon, dragging behind it a gray haze that scattered behind the clouds. Robbie's new flowery light hovered over Sportacus, bright and gold, but as they walked, the sky lightened so that the glow faded into the early glare.

"It's going to snow again," Sportacus said, looking at the sky. "Hard."

Heavy clouds covered the sky. Already thin snow flurries floated down, blowing sideways with each gust, threatening a coming squall.

"Great," Robbie muttered. "Maybe it'll put out the bakery and the candy shop when they catch on fire."

"That's not going to happen," Sportacus said. "No fires, no explosions, no one b-being forced out."

He tried to hide his stammer, but Robbie heard it and put an arm around Sportacus, holding him close against his side. The glamour of spring and warm wind cleared away the cold.

"And no elves freezing solid," Robbie muttered.

"I'm not used to walking through snow," Sportacus said. "More like running and, ah, jumping everywhere."

"Just don't jump between me and that monster," Robbie said, and he stopped and caught Robbie's eye to make sure he understood. "It might get hard to tell what I'm aiming at."

"I..." Sportacus felt a cold that had nothing to do with the snow. "Do you have anything like that fire spell? In the town, I mean?"

Robbie frowned, and the hand that curled around Sportacus' shoulder carried the hint of sharp points at the end. Did the elf mean to warn the other heroes? Or had the fire frightened him?

"...no," Robbie said after a moment. "No more, anyway. Those take a lot of energy out of me. That was a last bit I never used since Idrettsutøver never found my home. The rest were the traps, and I don't know where the rest of those are now."

"One more reason not to fight," Sportacus said. "Our real problem hasn't changed, but if we can get all of us working together, then those sluagh don't stand a chance."

Robbie didn't share his optimism and didn't answer. Scanning the sky for the outline of a balloon, when they reached the edge of town, he spotted the edge of a hero's gondola and a ladder that stretched to the ground. With a choked off squeak, he vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

Sportacus turned, then turn again, looking to see where he'd reappear, then felt something warm and furry creeping up the back of his neck to settle in his collar. Smiling ruefully, he reached up and gently stroked the bat's fur.

"Maybe that's for the best," Sportacus said, ruffling his hair just under his hat to better hide Robbie. "Stay there and I'll make sure he doesn't see you. Maybe my brother and I can drive him off without a fight."

Without having to match Robbie's walk, Sportacus was free to sprint in the direction of the town park, vaulting high snow drifts and rebounding off a lamp as he came to the main street. He rounded the park wall and found his brother waving his hands frantically for him to stop. Sportacus tried to plant his feet, but he slid along the icy ground until he was face to face with who he could only assume was Number 9.

Idrettsutøver looked like he never ate a cookie in his life. All lean sinew and corded muscle, even his face looked drawn taut over a neck almost as wide as his head. His hair had been cut close so that little of it peeked out from under his cap, and his eyes matched the dark grey of his hero uniform. But on his chest was no number, only the blank circle of a hero in training with no assigned town.

"Hopper," Iþrottaalfurinn said, splaying his hand on his brother's chest and pushing him back. "This is Sportacus. Sportacus...Hopper."

Idrettsutøver's gaze went down to the number 10, then back to Sportacus, who folded his arms and regarded him in return, craning his neck to see him.

"So the rookie is working with a villain," Idrettsutøver said, nodding once to himself as if his suspicions were confirmed. "Is that little flower gonna light on fire?"

Too late, Sportacus remembered the fae light over his head.

"It's a light that burns sluagh," Sportacus said. "The town radie gave it to me."

As he spoke, Iþrottaalfurinn kept making faces at him that Idrettsutøver couldn't see, glaring as if to make him stop. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, moving to step between his stupid little brother and the other elf.

"What Sportacus means—" Iþrottaalfurinn started, hands up against Idrettsutøver's chest as the other elf leaned forward.

"It's a joke that villain is a radie!" Idrettsutøver growled. "And you're working with him, you little replacement—does the council know? Have you told him you're working with the same villain who planted these traps in the first place?"

Sportacus flinched at the heat in his voice. He hadn't ever thought to report his growing friendship with Robbie to the council. For three years, he had been all but isolated out here, and while he thought that the council wouldn't be interested...when Idrettsutøver put that that way...

"Now that's a good question," Iþrottaalfurinn said, pushing Idrettsutøver back and pointing at him. "How much does the council know? Did they read the letter I sent?"

Idrettsutøver glared at Sportacus until he realized what Iþrottaalfurinn had said, and he looked down at the shorter elf in front of him.

"Waiting for them's just a waste of time when it's that rotten fae at work again," Idrettsutøver said. "No one knows that better than me."

"And what if you do bring Robbie in?" Iþrottaalfurinn said. "You think they'll be happy that you ignored the rules and took a balloon?"

"They'll be happy I brought in a world class killer," Idrettsutøver said. "Where is he? Quit hiding him!"

"We're not hiding anyone," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "You need to take that balloon and go home before you're stuck on monitor duty for another twenty years—"

"Forty!" Idrettsutøver snarled. "I'm on monitor duty for forty years because of that little monster!"

"You're there because you burned down part of the town," Iþrottaalfurinn said. "The council decided that, not Robbie, not—"

"'Robbie'?" Idrettsutøver echoed. "Are you friends now? First names for everyone? What else is going on here? Where is he hiding!"

Sportacus frowned. "Stopping the sluagh is far more important than—"

"There are lives at stake, Hopper—" Iþrottaalfurinn started.

Idrettsutøver pushed off Iþrottaalfurinn's hands and looked around the park.

"So he rebuilt his little 'place of power,' huh? Well, just you wait, Rotten!" He yelled as loud as he could. "I'll find your lair this time, and I'll pin your wings in a council cell!"

A sparkle flashed at Iþrottaalfurinn's shoulder, and in a circle of billowing purple smoke, Glanni appeared, using the elf as a shield between himself and Idrettsutøver. His catsuit wore a sheen of moisture from the snow, and his bending was less about getting closer to Iþrottaalfurinn and more about striking a pose.

"I don't mean to be a pest," Glanni said, wiggling his fingers at Idrettsutøver. "But there are a load of awful children-eating monsters who haven't had a snack in ages out there—"

Idrettsutøver gaped, looking from Iþrottaalfurinn to Glanni and back again. "You...you're working with the number two villain—?"

"Number one, darling, try to keep up." Glanni grinned to show off his teeth as they grew pointed. "The chihuahua retired."

"Glanni," Iþrottaalfurinn growled over his shoulder, "this isn't helping."

"Well, darling, I don't much care about the children," Glanni said, ignoring the indignant squeak from behind Sportacus' cap. "But those monsters are very much elf and fae-eating, too, and the weather outside is frightful, so I'd rather we go have our tiff somewhere a little more...delightful?"

No one missed the implied intimacy of his low voice, but while Iþrottaalfurinn turned and stamped his foot and glared up at the fae, Sportacus took Glanni at his word. He scanned the park and realized just how many blind spots there were, how many routes to the underground. They were effectively out in the open, easy targets, and the clouds overhead... Sportacus didn't like how dark they were growing. The winter sun was already so weak—he simply hadn't noticed because of Robbie's light over his head. He felt the growing need to take shelter, but Glanni's appearance had only added fuel to the argument between the elves.

"Go back to being a bug," Iþrottaalfurinn grumbled, "you're less of a pest."

"You just like it when you can feel taller than me," Glanni said in his ear.

"Does the council know about that?" Idrettsutøver demanded, pointing at Glanni who snapped his teeth in warning. "Who here really has more to fear from them finding out what's going on in Lazytown?"

"Wait," Sportacus said, looking at Glanni. "You said you were going to poison the town? Did you?"

"Of course, pet." Glanni ducked Idrettsutøver's sudden lunge, hiding behind the shorter Iþrottaalfurinn. "There's magic all over the houses here. No monsters getting at the yummy humans inside, but I'm feeling a bit tapped out, so...a nap is in order, maybe?"

Chills ran down Sportacus' spine. Glanni couched his words in cloyingly cute phrases, but he hadn't appeared for no reason. The people were safe, the elves and fae were not, and Glanni needed to rest.

"You can nap in prison," Idrettsutøver snarled, trying to dart around Iþrottaalfurinn who had to jump between the two of them.

"No," Sportacus yelled. "We can't waste time fighting each other. My ship's on its way here. We need to get into the air—"

Idrettsutøver opened his mouth to yell something else when he stumbled, pushed a pace back by the wind. They all stopped as they realized that the snow flurries had turned into gusts blowing snow into drifts climbing up to their knees, fueled by snowflakes as large as Sportacus' hand.

"Ithrot," Glanni mumbled, leaning so heavily that the elf bent under his weight. "Feeling pretty faint here..."

"Good," Idrettsutøver said, but his grab at Glanni was stopped by Iþrottaalfurinn expertly blocking with one arm.

Without a word, Iþrottaalfurinn lifted his hat, and with a flash, Glanni had swooped up and under, a sparkling purple dragonfly quickly shielded from the storm as Iþrottaalfurinn pulled the edges down again. His challenge to Idrettsutøver was clear in his eyes.

A tiny squeak came at Sportacus' ear, and Robbie fidgeted as Idrettsutøver's voice grew more agitated. At any moment, the two elves could come to blows, and Idrettsutover didn't have a fairy to protect during a fight. That would work to Idrettsutøver's advantage, plus he hadn't been working for hours fighting sluagh and searching through snow. Sportacus started to despair of their odds if it came to a real fight.

A fight?

Sportacus folded his arms, taking a moment to sort his thoughts and realize what he was feeling. Idrettsutøver's brash attitude had been startling for someone supposed to be a hero, but the elf was hardly a giant troll to be warded off, or a purple dinosaur, or the threat of being exiled forever. Sportacus had faced far worse than this.

And this? This was stupid—they were acting stupid. Lazytown was in danger from monsters and these two were fighting over fairies and past grievances.

Now Sportacus was the one to put a hand between them.

"It's not safe to argue here."

"A little storm isn't going to stop me," Idrettsutøver growled. He turned to face the town around them. "You hear me, you miserable little bat! I know it's you making this storm!"

"The storm might be magic," Sportacus conceded, but only slightly. "But it's not Robbie's. And that means we could be under attack soon. Since the town is safe for now—"

"You're taking that villain's word that he—?"

"—it would be smarter to plan and prepare in my airship," Sportacus continued over him. "You are welcome to dock alongside if you can act polite and civil."

"And if I want to start looking for that villain right now?" Idrettsutøver said. "Since he's obviously the one behind all this?"

Sportacus' look darkened. "Then I will take responsibility for choosing my way to protect this town. As Number 10."

Idrettsutøver's sudden bared teeth were Sportacus' only warning as the other elf reached back and swung. Sportacus leaned back, but Idrettsutøver's fist caught his jaw a glancing blow. Sportacus' head snapped back just hard enough to send him slipping down into the snow.

Sportacus shook the stars out of his head. He didn't have time to feel the shock—he'd felt Robbie slip free and fall. He needed to get up and back in the fight.

"Fine," he snapped, wiping the snow from his face. "I may not have a tennis racket, but I don't need one to handle a delusional little brat like you."

The expected punch didn't come. Iþrottaalfurinn had backed up a step, and even Idrettsutøver had switched to a defense posture, arms raised to block instead. Both of them stared at something behind him.

"Move," his brother warned him, "move!"

Sportacus suspected—very little could have driven his brother back like that, even the nest of sluagh had only startled him—but he didn't want to believe. He wouldn't believe it. His friend would always be his friend. He wouldn't be afraid of him. He didn't try to scramble out of the way, so sure of their friendship, and instead looked back, hoping he wasn't wrong.

_Because the fairy that drove out Number 9 was all anger and pointy ends._

From where Robbie had tumbled into the snow, darkly purple limbs emerged, long, thin—Sportacus realized they were the fingers of batwings, their leather stretched taut as they spread out and up, framing the body that followed. Just as tall as before—thinner so that he was recognizably not human—with arms that bent like a spider's and ended in claws. And the face—Robbie's but thinner, flatter, a triangle of slanted orange eyes and sharp teeth.

Sportacus remembered the way Robbie's body had wavered in the moonlight, slipping in and out of glamour as he wondered if he would have to fight. Now Robbie had made up his mind, and he stalked over the snow, crept over Sportacus and hissed, shielding the elf with his wings.

Idrettsutøver looked from Robbie to Sportacus, Sportacus to Robbie, his jaw tightening.

"No," Sportacus tried, feeling the faerie tensing on top of him. "Don't—"

So fast that Sportacus flinched, Robbie whipped around and hissed in warning, then turned and lunged for Idrettsutøver's throat.

And without the fairy's summer glamour, Sportacus felt the full intensity of the blizzard as the storm finally opened wide, swallowing the fight up in blinding whiteout of ice.


End file.
